Andromeda Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
by Catarina Persephone
Summary: Andromeda Potter had always been strange. With unnatural and magical things happening around her, talking to fishes and horses were as ordinary as having a glass of water. But on her eleventh birthday, she is met face to face with a new world full of magic. Will Andy survive the destiny she is about to encounter? Will Andromeda uncover the secret of her biological dad? Fem Harry.
1. Full Summary and disclaimer

Andromeda Potter had always been strange. With unnatural and magical things happening around her, talking to fishes and horses were as ordinary as having a glass of water. She had never imagined that she'll ever have a family. As far as she knew, the horrible Dursleys were the only relations of hers alive. But on her eleventh birthday, she is met face to face with a new world full of magic that could change her whole life around. Will Andromeda survive the secrets and the destiny she is about to encounter at Hogwarts? Will she able to uncover the secrets of her biological father with a glowing bronze trident?

I DO NOT own anything.

All rights go to J.K Rowling, the amazing author of Harry Potter, and the entire magical world.

(And to Rick Riodern, the awesome author of Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Heroes of Olympus and the modern demigod world for future reference.)

Love, Magic and demigods,

Catarina Persephone


	2. Prologue: The Girl Who Lived

**Title:** Andromeda Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

**Writer:** Catarina Persephone

**Disclaimer:** All rights go to J.K Rowling, the amazing author of Harry Potter, and the entire magical world.

(and to Rick Riordan, the awesome author of Percy Jackson and the Olympian , Heroes of Olympus and the modern demigod world for future reference.)

* * *

Prologue: _The Girl Who Lived_

Poseidon, god of the Seas, stared at the lifeless body of his mortal lover in distress. Lily Evans, pureblood witch with her vibrant red hair and emerald eyes was gone, dead, her limp body cold on the soft pale yellow carpet. He _did _love his immortal wife, Amphitrite, but also cared deeply and still loved Lily, who he will never see again. He sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair, his other hand clutched his bronze trident. He wanted to destroy something or somebody, or rather, kill this 'Voldy Mort' guy that killed his lover.

Just when he was about to go back to his kingdom, Atlantis, a small voice was heard behind him. "Daddy! Daddy!"

Poseidon stopped short. Did he really… his unfinished question was answered by a soft small clapping and a squeal. "Daddy! Daddy!"

He whirled around, and cautiously walked towards where the sound came from. The sound came from a white crib that sat near the very colourful wall, with a mobile hanging directly over the crib on the ceiling. It was a beautiful- the mobile ,not the ceiling- with hippocampus, dolphins, fishes, lions, a stag, a wolf and a shaggy black dog, with soft soothing music that chimed delicately.

A small giggle broke him out of his trance with the mobile. He blinked and looked down to meet a pair of sea green - _his_ \- eyes. He nearly jumped back. There was a baby girl, _alive_ in this haunted house. He gulped and looked down again. The baby girl was beautiful, with lightly tanned skin – unnatural for a newborn baby- long black messy hair – exactly like his- small button nose, cute pouty rosy lips and … _his_ sea green eyes.

"Daddy?" she asked tilting her head in wonder, her soft red lips pulled in a cute pout. "Daddy?" He instinctively, reached out to her as she giggled.

Then, it hit him like a rock. This was his - and Lily's-daughter. His first demigod daughter. Immortal daughters ,he had before, but never a demigod_. _He knew Lily was pregnant, but simply assumed that the baby was the son of Mercury's and had died along with Lily. Now, it didn't matter that he had broken the vow on not siring demigods. He spun his baby girl round in joy, his face breaking into a huge grin.

But there was something else… He didn't know his daughter's name. He nearly face palmed at his idiocy. He had a DAUGHTER, and he didn't even know her _name!_

As if reading his mind, his daughter rolled her eyes – something Lily did often and held her hand out, making a silky soft green-blue thing zoom towards her hand, which she caught it perfectly – also unnatural for a baby. She handed it to him with a big bright smile. Curiously, Poseidon flattened out the bunched up fabric and found out it was a blanket.

A soft silky shimmering sea-green blanket embroidered with mini tridents, hippocampus, Pegasus, dolphins, fishes … and on the bottom was a shining bronze lettering.

'_Andromeda Cordelia Potter'_

"Andromeda Cordelia Potter," he murmured looking at the baby girl in his arms. "Daughter of Poseidon, legacy of Hecate and Athena." He murmured, slightly distasteful at the name of his immortal enemy.

Then a loud thumps were heard, with the sound of a motorcycle engine. Poseidon knew that they were to take care of his little Pearl. There wasn't much time. He reluctantly set his Pearl down back on her crib and fished out something from his pocket of his khaki shorts.

It was a beautiful pearl pendant on a simple thins silver chain. The pearl was perfectly formed in a circle, and the surface of the pearl glimmered in the faint light of his trident.

"Bye my little Princess." He murmured putting the chain around her neck, kissing her forehead.

She waved back, a sad smile on her face, like she knew that he had to go, and that they won't meet for a while." Bye Daddy…"

"Bye my Pearl, and May the gods be with you." He murmured, his lips twitching at the irony of _him _being a god himself. 'Or maybe not. Most of them will try to kill you but …'

"Remember, the Sea cannot be restrained…" He murmured once more, before disappearing, the soft scent of the sea breeze, the only trace of him being there.

Andromeda Potter smiled sadly, her small hands going automatically to her pearl. "Bye daddy….' She murmured, before closing her bright sea green eyes, yawning tiredly as a giant picked her up from her crib.

\- The Girl Who Lived -

It was midnight, when the man appeared, so silently and suddenly, as if he had popped up from the ground.

The man clearly was different from any man seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin and very, very old, by the sight of the silver and grey of his hair and beard, which as long enough that made it impossible to figure out where the hair ended and where the beard was. He wore strange lilac robe with silver stars, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high heeled, buckled leather boots. His blue eyes were unnaturally bright and twinkling behind the half moon spectacles perched on his long crooked nose, that looked as if it had been broken at least twice before.

His name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore was rummaging through his cloak, looking for something when he suddenly seemed to realize that he was not alone and that he was being watched.

He looked up and his blue eyes focused on a cat that was staring at him from the other end of the street. He chuckled and muttered, looking amused by the sight of the cat. "I should have known."

After a minute of rummaging, he found what he was looking for in the inside pocket of his cloak. The object seemed to be a silver cigarette light. He flicked it open, held it in the air, and clicked it. The nearest lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again - the next lamp flickered into darkness. The clicked the Put-Outer twelve times, until the only lights left on the street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window, not even the beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley would be able to see anything.

Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at the cat, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no - even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent - I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumours."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of"

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone -"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense - for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name; Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name.

"I know you haven't, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring."But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too- well - noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumours that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had. She fixed Dumbledore with a piercing stare. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are - are - that they're - dead. "

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I know..." he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's daughter, Andromeda. But - he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little girl. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Andromeda Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke - and that's why he's gone.

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's - it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a little girl? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did little Andromeda survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Andromeda to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family her has left now."

"You don't mean - you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore - you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son - I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Andromeda Cordelia Potter cannot come and live here!"

"It's the best place for her," said Dumbledore firmly. "Her aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to her when she's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand her! She'll be famous - a legend - I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as the Andromeda Potter day in the future - there will be books written about Andromeda - every child in our world will know her name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any girl's head. Famous before she can walk and talk! Famous for something she won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off she'll be, growing up away from all that until she's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes- yes, you're right, of course. But how is the girl getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding young Andromeda underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing her."

"You think it -wise- to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to - what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a head light; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky - and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild - long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sit," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got her, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir - house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. She was asleep when I got there."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby girl, fast asleep. Under her shoulder length jet-black hair, they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning on her forehead.

"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "She'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well - give her here, Hagrid - we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.

"Could I - could I say good-bye to her, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent hisgreat, shaggy head over Andromeda and gave her what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it - Lily an' James dead - an' poor little Andy off ter live with Muggles -"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Andromeda gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside her blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall - Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her.

Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Andromeda," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Andromeda rolled over inside her blankets. One small and chubby fist closed on the letter beside her and she slept on, not knowing she was special, not knowing she was famous, not knowing that she was a result of a broken vow, not knowing she would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that she would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by her cousin Dudley... She couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Andromeda Potter - the girl who lived!"

Andromeda opened one bright sea green eye and blinked- her eyes full of wisdom and understanding- and winked at the moon gleaming in the sky above her.

"The Sea cannot be restrained…" A faint but warm fathery voice washed over four Privet Drive, with a wisp of cool sea breeze.

'May the Gods be with you… my little Pearl…. May the gods be with you…'

* * *

Hi there!

I was editing the chapters and changing stuff a bit so the original message and the quote was deleted. Sorry for that. And I can't remember all the things I said/wrote so.. yeah.

The message and the random quote will be skipped for the next few chapters (I think)

But Chapter 4 Diagon Alley, I've posted a message so... check it out.

Love, Magic and demigods,

Catarina Persephone

* * *

**Updated:** October 1st 2015

Changes:

\- The pendant to pearl necklace

\- Cut of scene.

\- Other.


	3. 1: Talking snakes and Vanishing Glass

**Title:** Andromeda Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

**Writer:** Catarina Persephone

**Disclaimer:** All rights go to J.K Rowling, the amazing author of Harry Potter, and the entire magical world.

(and to Rick Riordan, the awesome author of Percy Jackson and the Olympian , Heroes of Olympus and the modern demigod world for future reference.)

* * *

Chapter One: _Talking Snakes and Vanishing Glass_

Ten Years later:

I, Andromeda Potter woke up to my horrible giraffe of an Aunt rapping on the door, her shrill voice the first noise of the peaceful day.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

I woke up with a start. My aunt rapped on the door again, making me dizzy with all the banging and rapping.

"Up!" she screeched. I heard her walk towards the kitchen and the sound of frying pan being put out on to the stove. I rolled on my back and tried to remember the dream I had been having before being woken up rudely.

There was a young man with wavy black hair and startling grey eyes on a large flying motorcycle. The man was grinning wildly, lighting up his face. It was something like a memory, something I had seen before, but forgotten. These dreams were rare ones, on lucky days when I retreated back to my pathetic excuse of a bed with only small bruises.

Then it changed to a scene of a kingdom under the sea, with fished and dolphins swimming around freely.

There was another person, man this time, with dark messy hair and bright sea green eyes. It wasn't a blue green, nor a teal. It was the exact colour of the sea on a sunny day, the green mixed with a bit of blue. The eyes that was so much like my one. The man had a dark beard, and in his tanned hand, was a bronze trident. It was strange seeing a man with a trident, but the stranger fact was that he had a tail. But no matter how he looked, I felt safe and content with the man. Like the kind of safety that fathers give to their daughters. I longed for that feeling again. I never had a father or a mother. Just my horrible aunt and uncle and their ugly son Dudley.

My aunt was back outside the door again.

"Are you up yet? "She demanded.

"Nearly," said I said yawning tiredly.

"Well. Get a move on, I want you to look after the bacons. And don't you _dare_ let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

I groaned.

"What did you say?" My Aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing… nothing…"

Dudley's birthday- how could I have _forgotten_? I got slowly out of bed and started to crawl under, where I kept my clothes. I found a pair of black leggings and a lacy green top, and pulled a small spider off them. I was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where I slept. But that didn't mean I liked them. They were hairy and just _yuck_.

I was thankful for the clothes that Aunt Petunia had gotten me from second-hand shops. Aunt Petunia has said "Proper Ladies must wear proper clothes". If I had been a boy, I would have had to wear Dudley's old things. And obviously, I wouldn't have liked it.

When I was dressed, I went down the hall into the kitchen.

The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to me, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise-unless of course it involved punching somebody. I was Dudley's favourite punching bag but Dudley was too slow for me. I didn't really look it, but I was very fast. Or, it had something to do with my ADHD.

Maybe it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but I had always been small and skinny for my age. But even my size couldn't hide my natural beauty.

I had a heart shaped face, long black wavy hair, skin that was a mix between pale and a bronze tan. And my favourite feature, bright sea-green eyes. On my forehead, was a thin scar that was shaped like a lightning bolt. I didn't really like the shape, as if I was … it just gave me a really bad feeling. I had it as long as I could remember, and the first question I could remember asking my Aunt Petunia how I had gotten it.

"In a car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't' like questions."

_Don't ask questions_\- that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys. It was sometimes hard really with my ADHD, but I learnt to keep my mouth shut.

But I had a good gut feeling that my parent's death wasn't by a car crash.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as I was turning over the bacon on the pan.

"Comb you hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.

"I already did…" I muttered. I had gotten a small plastic comb from Aunt Petunia for my 8th birthday. Aunt Petunia sometimes gave me presents. Like a small hair comb, pins, hair ties or when she was particularly happy with gossips that day, clothes.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that I needed a haircut. But it made no difference. My hair simply grew that way- long and wavy, naturally sea windswept, just the way I liked it.

I was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much of a neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that laid smoothly on his thick, fat head. The best way to describe him? A fat pig in a blonde wig.

I put the plate of eggs and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell, almost comically.

"Thirty six" he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present. See, it's under this big one from Mummy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face.

I could sense a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, and began wolfing down my breakfast like it was the last meal I was going to have, in case Dudley decided to flip the table.

Aunt Petunia sensed danger too, because she said quickly, "We'll buy you another_ two_ presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? _Two_ more presents. Is that all right?"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work because he hardly ever used his brain. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty… thirty…"

"Thirty Nine." I said smirking at Dudley's idiocy.

Aunt Petunia shot me a dirty look. "Thirtynine sweetums."

I nearly snorted at that. Sweetums? Really?

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled, even though there was nothing funny.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley! "He ruffled Dudley's hair.

At that moment the phone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Uncle Vernon and I watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a laptop. He was ripping the paper off a gold wrist watch when Aunt Petunia came back looking both angry and worried.

"Bad new Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take _her."_ She jerked her head in my direction

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but I was quite glad. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for that day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or to the movies. Every year, I was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets ahead. I hated it there, the house smelled of rotten old cabbages and Mrs. Figg made me look at all the photos of the cats she owned.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at me as if I had planned this. Why would I? And if I did, I would have planned something more…. beneficial.

I knew I ought to feel sorry of Mrs. Figg for breaking her leg but, it wasn't easy as my brain kept supplying that I wouldn't have to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws and Tufty again until next year.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested and I gave a shudder of horror and disgust. She hated me, and the feeling was mutual, as she would always badmouth my parents as if she knew them personally. But I was convinced that my parents were smart enough not to make friends with people like Uncle Vernon and his sister Marge.

"Don't be silly, she hate the girl." I sighed in relief.

The Dursleys often spoke about me as if I wasn't there- or rather, as though I was something very nasty that wouldn't go away. But it wasn't my fault that my mouth kept saying sarcastic and witty remarks. I was just _born_ that way.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend – Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"You could just leave me here, you know," I said as I twirled a lock of dark hair between my fingers, bored of the conversation already.

I would have rather stayed here than somewhere else, as I would have been able to go swimming in the lake I had found in the woods and chat with the fished in the lake.( I somehow was able to talk to fishes and sea animals) Also I could read the thick Greek Mythology books I had gotten from the library- the book was in Greek. Because of my dyslexia, the English words were just too hard to read- on the sunny and grassy area where the lake was, without Aunt Petunia breathing down my neck.

Aunt Petunia looked as if she had just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in the ruins?" She snarled.

I scoffed." I won't blow up the house," But of course, nobody was listening.

"I suppose we could take her to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly as if she said it fast, something would blow up. Something that started with a 'Dud' and finished with a 'ley' "…and leave her in the car…."

"The car's new, she's not sitting in it alone…."

Dudley began to cry loudly. I had to block my ears because his wailing was so loud. In fact, he wasn't really crying – it had been years since he'd really cried – but he knew if he screwed up his ugly face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let _her_ spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him. I rolled my eyes at the display in front of me, though it was quite funny. A thin giraffe necked women, hugging a short fat boy, who was wailing like a baby. It was quite a site to watch.

"I … don't…want…her…t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. "She always spoils everything!" He shot me a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.

I muttered under my breath "I don't want to be anywhere _near_ you."

Just then – when it was becoming to be quite entertaining- the doorbell rang-"Oh, good Lords, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically- and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind them while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped crying at once and shot me a nasty look. I sighed. It was going to be a long day.

-Talking snakes and vanishing glass-

Half an hour later, I was sitting at the back of the Dudley's car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with me, but before they left, Uncle Vernon pulled me aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large unnatural purple face right close to mine. "I'm warning you Girl, any funny business, any funny business at all, and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," I said "well at least I wouldn't try to …"

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe me. Nobody did.

The problem was, that strange things often happened around me. I was always at the wrong place at wrong time. And it was no good telling the Dursleys that I didn't make them happen. Nobody ever believed me.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of me coming back from the barbers as if I hadn't been there at all, had took a pair of kitchen scissors and cut off my hair short ,up to the middle of my head and almost bald except for a few strands of hair for a bang, to 'hide that hideous scar'. I had willed myself for my hair to grow back, long, down to my waist and messily wavy. Next morning, my hair had grown back, just the way I wanted and liked, just like before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. I was stuck in the cupboard for a week, even though I tried to explain that I didn't know how my hair grow back so fast. I tried to explain that I had nothing to do with it as it was so unnatural. But of course, that didn't help.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force me into a revolting old sweater of Aunt Marge's (Brown with bright pink and orange puff balls). The harder she tried to pull it over my head, the smaller it seemed to become, until it was only large enough to fit a hand puppet, but of course it wouldn't fit me, thank the _gods_. Aunt Petunia had decided it had shrunk in the wash and thankfully, I didn't get any punishments.

Once, I gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley's gang had been chasing me as usual when, I don't know how I got there, and I was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from the Headmistress telling that _I_ had been climbing school buildings. I tried and tried – even yelled at Uncle Vernon through the key hole in the cupboard – to explain that all I tried to do was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. I supposed the wind must have caught me or something.

And there was different things appearing that I was sure that I didn't do anything about. Like the one eyed man – I was sure that it had one eye and late identified as a Cyclops or sorts - that followed me around the playground. I tried to tell my kindergarten teacher, but she said it must have been the trick of the light or something. Definitely _something._

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. Hopefully. It was nice to be not in my cupboard or Mrs. Figg's cabbage smelling living room. Even if I was with Dudley and Piers.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He loved to complain about things. People at work, me, the council, me, the bank, me were just a few of his favourite subjects. Of course, I felt _really_ special to be talked about all the time.

This morning, was about motorcycles.

"… Roaring along like a maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

"I had a dream about a motorcycle," I said, remembering about the pleasant dream about the flying motorcycle with the grey eyed man. "It was flying."

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and started yelling at me, his face like a giant purple beet with a moustache.

"MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

Dudley and Piers sniggered.

"Of course they don't. That why it's called a dream." I said in a _duh_ voice, rolling my eyes.

I knew I shouldn't have said anything. If there was one thing the Dusleys hated more than me asking questions, was talking about strange, unnatural and _magical_ things, whether in a dream or even a random cartoon- they seemed to think that I was getting dangerous ideas. Not that I was out of any.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers each a large chocolate ice cream at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady from the ice cream van had asked me what I wanted before they could hurry me away, they got me a cheap blue salty ice pop. The Dursleys had shot me a nasty look but, well, the ice cream was worth it, as I licked , watching a gorilla scratching its head, who looked remarkably alike to Dudley, except that the gorilla wasn't blond.

I had the best morning in a long time- the last time being the morning I had found the new lake in the woods. I was careful to walk a little bit apart from Dudley and Piers in case they grew bored and tried to hit me.

We had a lovely lunch at the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his desert didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and I was allowed to finishes the first, which still practically untouched.

I knew my luck wasn't going to last very long.

After Lunch, we went to the Reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of stone and wood. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can-but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass loudly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed off.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away with Uncle Vernon and Piers.

I moved in front of the glass and examined the snake. It looked like torture in there, with stupid people drumming fingers on the glass to disturb the poor snake all day long. It looked worse than being stuck in the cupboard under the stairs.

The snake suddenly opened its beady looking eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its yellow eyes were on a level with my own sea green ones

_It winked._

I stared at the snake and looked around to see if anyone else was looking. Nobody was. I turned back to the snake and winked back, a smile on my face.

The snake, who I named Boara, as he was a Boa Constrictor, jerked its head to where Uncle Vernon and Dudley was ogling over some other snake and raised its eyes towards the ceiling. It gave me a look that said:

"_I get that all the time."_

"I know" I murmured to Boara through the glass, not caring if I looked insane talking to a snake. "It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded its head – something I didn't know snakes could- vigorously, as if glad that_ someone _was able to understand the feeling of being trapped.

"Where do you come from anyway?" I asked curiously.

Boara jabbed his tail at a little sign next to the glass. I peered at it and frowned. Because I was dyslexic, the black words were all jumbled up, making it hard for me to read. After a moment, I came to the conclusion that the sign said; _Boa Constrictor, Brazil._

"Was it nice there?" Boara jabbed his tail again at the sign again and I read on:

_This specimen was breed in the zoo._

"Oh, I see…You've never been to Brazil."

As the snake shook its head, a loud and deafening shout behind me made both of us jump.

"DUDLEY! MR DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T_BELIEVE_ WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudely came waddling towards us as fast as he could, which wasn't really fast as he was really slow and fat.

"Out of the way, _girl_." He said, like _girl _was the best insult he could think of and swiping at me with his large fat hand. I managed to dodge the swiping hand in the last minute, scrambling back.

What happened next was so fast, I almost missed it- one second, Piers and Dudley was pressed up against the glass, the next, they fell in with shrieks of horror.

I gaped at the site. Strange things happened to me, but this was new. The glass in front of the tank had vanished. Vanished, gone into thin air, no sign of any glass at all, like it wasn't there in the first place.

Boara uncoiled himself rapidly and slithered out of the tank onto the floor. People in the reptile house began screaming and started running for the exits which was a stupid idea since the snake itself was going towards the exit.

As Boara slid swiftly past me, I heard a low hissing voice from him." _Brazil, here I_ _come… Thanksss, amigo."_ As shocked I was, I smiled and blew him a kiss, with Boara giving me a hissy kiss back.

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

"But the glass," he kept saying, as if in a trance, "Where did the glass go?"

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber and stutter like a couple of idiots. As far as I saw, Boara didn't do anything expect snap playfully at their heels as he passed, But Dudley was telling that the snake tried to bite his foot off, and Piers said it tried to squeezed him to death.

The worst part?

When Piers calmed down enough, he said, "Andromeda was talking to it, weren't you Andy?" I groaned, I knew I was going to be stuck in that cupboard for ages.

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on me. He was so angry, he could barely speak. He only managed to say, "Go- cupboard - stay - no meals." before collapsing into a chair, Aunt Petunia running to get him a large brandy. I suppose what Uncle Vernon was trying to say was, "Go to the Cupboard and stay there. No meals." But that was all I thought, before I was practically thrown into the dark cupboard.

-Talking snakes and vanishing glass-

Several hours later I lay on my dark cupboard, wishing I had a clock. I didn't know what time it was and I couldn't be sure if the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, I couldn't risk sneaking into the kitchen for some food.

I lived with the Durlseys for almost ten years, ten horrible years, as long as I could remember, ever since I was a baby and when my parents died- defiantly _not_ by a car crash. I knew _that_. I couldn't remember being in the car, when, apparently my parents died. Sometimes, when I concentrated, I came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of vibrant green light and a burning pain on my forehead, a faint face of the man with sea green eyes, smiling gently at me as he put a pearl pendent on a thin silver chain around my neck. The pain on my forehead, I supposed was the crash, or whatever killed my parents, though, I couldn't imagine what the green light or the man with the sea green eyes came from.

I couldn't remember my parents, not really. I just knew that my dad's name was James Potter and my mum Lily. My father had dark and messy hair like my own- I had probably inherited that from him- and hazel eyes. Lily had fiery red hair and bright emerald eyes. I had a blurry and practically unrecognisable memory of a pair of males. The dark haired grey eyed man named Pandfoot and a brown haired and amber eyed man named Moony. That was all I remembered of my parents. Prongs, Padfoot, Moony and Lily.

When I was younger, I used to dream and dream of some unknown relation coming to take me away from the horrible Dursleys, but of course, that never happened.

But sometimes, very strange strangers seemed to know me. A tiny man with a violet top hat and cloak, bowed to me, once, when I was out shopping with Aunt Petunia. After asking furiously if I knew that man, Aunt Petunia whisked me away without buying the eggs that we desperately needed. Dudley had eaten all of them for breakfast.

A wild looking old women dressed in all green, cloak, hat, robes and all, had waved at me merrily once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken my hand and walked away without a word.

And let's not forget the one eyed stalker. The tall man in a black trench coat and matching hat stalked me in the playground of the kindergarten. He followed me around everywhere- the monkey bars, the slide, the swings…until the teacher threatened to call the police if he didn't leave. I distinctively remembered him having only one eye, but of course no one believed me.

The weirdest thing about all those people was the way they seemed to vanish the second I tried to get a closer look.

I sighed and tugged the little pearl out of my shirt. The pearl was glimmering, giving a faint light and the familiar smooth surface and the cool silver was comforting. It was the only possession that I had that wasn't bought by my aunt. Aunt Petunia didn't know I had the pearl. It was always hidden in my shirt, checking so the chain wasn't showing at every moment or so. If she knew, she would have sold it or took it away for herself. It _was_ pretty.

I sighed once more and closed my eyes, praying to every Greek gods and goddesses I knew, that something or someone would get me out of this hell hole.

* * *

**Updated:** October 1st 2015

Changes:

Grammar, punctuation... etc


	4. 2: Letters from Hoggy Warts

**Title:** Andromeda Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

**Writer:** Catarina Persephone

**Disclaimer:** All rights go to J.K Rowling, the amazing author of Harry Potter, and the entire magical world.

(and to Rick Riordan, the awesome author of Percy Jackson and the Olympian , Heroes of Olympus and the modern demigod world for future reference.)

* * *

Chapter Two: _Letters from Hoggy Warts_

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned me my longest ever punishment. That wasn't my fault, by the way. By the time I was allowed out of the cramped cupboard, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, undoubtly crashed his remote control airplane into the garden fences, and first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

I was very glad school was over, but sadly, there was no escaping Dudley's stupid gang of uglies, who visited the house every single _day_. I know, seeing their ugly face more than I needed or wanted is _very _hard work. Piers- who l hated more than ever, after the snake accident in the zoo- , Dennis, Malcom, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but Dudley being the biggest- meaning the fattest- and the stupidest, he was the leader, hence the name of 'Dudley's Gang' They all seemed to have something in common- not counting being fat and stupid that is- and they were more than happy to join Dudley on their favourite sport – I had a great shock the other day, seeing the gang playing a _sport_ was a miracle more or less: Andromeda or Andy Hunting.

That was an another reason I spent most of my time outside- not that I minded, wondering out in the woods, swimming, reading and mostly thinking about the end of the holidays, where there was a tiny stream of hope of avoiding Dudley and his exceptionally ugly face.

When September came, I was going to secondary school or intermediate, and for the first time in my _life, _I wouldn't be with my pathetic excuse of a cousin. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltlings. In my opinion, was a disgusting name for a school. _Smeltling!_ That was practically advertising that the school stank. Piers Polkiss was going there too, much to my relief. I on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, a local public school. Dudley thought it was very funny. Though he was not the only person in the house to be accepted into a private school.

I had secretly applied for a scholarship in the nearby private school with the help of my kind teacher, Ms Athena who had striking stormy grey eyes. I had gotten the scholarship, but of course, the Dursleys decided to take that away too. Complaining about all the money it was going to cost, when the letter clearly said, 'SCHOLARSHIP'.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," Dudley had said. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No, thank you," I said, "The poor toilets' never had anything as horrible as your head down it- it might get sick." I sniffed and pretended to be sad at the toilet, sarcasm practically dripping at every word. I walked away coolly before Dudley could work out what I had said. Which wasn't happening in a long time.

One day in July, I can't be bothered to even remember the day, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his smeltling uniform, leaving me at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn't bad as usual. She was cranky at her cats as she tripped over one and broke her leg; she wasn't very fond of them at the moment. She let me watch Television and gave me a bit of chocolate cake that I quickly refused, as it smelled like she'd had it for several years.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand new uniform. Smeltling boys wore a maroon tailcoat, tacky orange knickerbockers- which happened to be a really weird baggy pants sort of thing- and flat straw hats called boaters.

They also carried these ridiculous knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. Apparently, that was supposed to be good training for late life.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickers -whatevers- can't be bothered to know the name, Uncle Vernon gruffly said that it was the proudest moments of his life. Which had to be really boring is seeing Dudley is that _thing_ was proud. Aunt Petunia even burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, looking so handsome and grown up. I didn't say anything. I already thought that two of my right ribs were cracked from trying not to laugh.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when I went in for breakfast. The smell seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. When I went to have a look with one hand pinching my nose, the tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in grey water.

"What is this?" I asked Aunt Petunia who was holding a pair of long kitchen tongs. Her lips tightened as they always did when I asked a mere innocent question.

"Your new school uniform' she said as she poked the rags with her tong.

I crinkled my nose in distaste as I looked in the tub again.

"Okay?!" I said. "Well, I didn't realize it had to be soon wet."

"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Pier's cousin's things grey for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished" She said it like I would be grateful for the kindness that she had given me and start to bow down muttering thank yous and kissing her shoes.

I seriously doubted this, but kept my mouth shut, as it would be best if I didn't argue about that _thing_ in the kitchen sink. I sat down at the table and tried not to think about how I was going to look on my first day at Stonewall High. Probably looking like I had a major fight with a dead elephant and got the old skin glued to me.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, with wrinkled noses because of the horrid smell from my new uniform- or what was supposed to be. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper like every other morning and Dudley banged his Smeltling stick, which he carried everywhere, even to the bathroom, on the table.

Soon, we heard the familiar 'click' of the mail slot and the soft flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," Uncle Vernon said from behind his paper, not even bothering to look up.

"Make Andromeda get it" the said boy whined.

"Go get the Mail, Girl"

"Make Dudley get it" I retorted back.

"Poke her with your Smeltling stick, Dudley"

I dodged the stick skilfully and walked down the hall to get the mail. Three things laid on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge, who was having a holiday on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked remarkably- and was probably- a bill and … _a Letter addressed for me._

I picked it up and stared at it like it was a really complicated math problem. No one, EVER, in my whole life, had written to me. Who would? I had no relatives, or no friends. Well, _human_ friends and I was sure the sea animals couldn't send me a letter. It wasn't from the library and the book I had gotten wasn't due till the end of next month. But here it was, a letter, addressed clearly and plainly on the envelope.

_Miss. A. Potter_

_The Cupboard under the stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in delicate emerald-green ink. But there was no stamp.

Turning the envelope over with trembling hands, I saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter _H._ It was strange but welcoming and familiar. I was sure I had seen that golden lion before…

"Hurry up Girl!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen, clearly impatient. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke, which was totally _lame._

I went into the kitchen, still examining the seal with a frown on my face, trying to will my brain to get the memories of the green light. The lion _was_ there, though it looked like only a drawing or a painting of it. I dumped the bill and the postcard onto the table in front of Uncle Vernon, without much care. I sat down back on my chair, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope, my curiosity overpowering the other side of my brain that was yelling to not open it.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted like a pig in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny Whelk…"

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly "Dad, Andromeda's got something!"

I was on the point of unfolding the letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of my hands by Uncle Vernon.

I cursed inwardly at my stupidly. I should have opened it in the cupboard, not in the clear sight of the Dursley! I sighed. There goes my letter.

"That is _mine,_" I hissed trying to take the letter back.

"Who'd be writing to you?" Sneered uncle Vernon, shaking my letter open with one hand, and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds, he's face was the colour of greyish white of old porridge, which was exceptionally unattractive.

"P-P-Petunia!" He gasped, his beady little eyes big.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it put of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment, I thought she was going to faint right there. She clutched her throat, and making choking noises.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness- Vernon!"

They stared at each other, seeming to forget that Dudley and I were still in the room. Dudley was not used to being ignored, and he sharply tapped Uncle Vernon on the head with his Smeltlings stick.

"I want to read that letter," he said loudly.

"Shouldn't_ I_ get to read it? You know, since it's _mine_?" I said folding my arms.

"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

I didn't move from my chair.

"_I_ want _my_ letter." I said gritting my teeth, trying to control the familiar tugging in my stomach that formed every time I was angry.

"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he grabbed my arm and Dudley's ear, threw us into the hall, slamming and locking the door behinds him. Dudley started to press his ear to the key whole, trying to eavesdrop, while I just sat leaning against a wall. I somehow had super hearing, and listening through a door was easy.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address-how could they possibly know where she sleeps. You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching - spying- might be following us," Muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want-"

I could practically see Uncle Vernon pacing up and down, muttering and scratching his moustache in the kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "We'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer… Yes, that's best… we won't do anything…"

"But-"

"I'm not having it in the house, 't we swear when we took her in, we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

I pressed my lips together. They knew something. They knew who wrote the letter. And they hated me for it.

That evening, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before. He visited me in my cupboard.

I was reading the next chapter of my book; one about Medusa, Poseidon and Athena, when Uncle Vernon squeezed through the door, uninvited, I might say.

"Where is my letter?" I asked though I _knew_ Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia already had either burnt it or put it in the trash. "Who is writing to me?"

"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," said uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burnt it"

"Yeah, it _totally _a mistake that the writer wrote to me, with the letter addressed to _my cupboard_ and nobody here has a name starting with an A or a P. Let alone a _Potter._ It _is_ mine, and you know it." I said angrily, putting a small piece of blue ribbon as my book mark on the page of my book. The logic in my sentence clearly pushed Uncle Vernon to his limits, because he roared in anger.

"SILENCE!" A couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. I flicked them away, grimacing at the sight of the black hairy legs. Uncle Vernon took a few deep breaths and forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Err - yes, Andromeda - about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking… you're really getting too big for it… we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom. And a cupboard is not a place for a girl."

"Why?" My eyes narrowed, the Dursleys were _never _nice. They did _nothing _nice. And they definitely didn't care if I was a girl. It was a trap, or a way to… it hit me. The letter said the _Cupboard under the stairs, directly_. They were testing if the letter would come again, to a _different_ address.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped my Uncle. "Take your stuff up stairs now."

The Dursley's house had four bedrooms: One for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's Sister Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom, my new room.

It only took me one trip upstairs to move everything I owned from the cupboard to the room. I sat down on the bed and looked around. Nearly everything around the room was broken. The month old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbour's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first ever television, which he had put his foot though when his favourite program was cancelled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a colourful parrot that Dudley had swapped for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. The other selves were full of books, and they were the only things that looked as though they'd never been touched. Dudley hated books, and anything smart and informative.

From downstairs came the sound of Dudleybawling at his mother, "I don't want her in there... I need that room... make her get out..."

I sighed and stretched out on the bed, covering my ears with a pillow to block out the wailing. Yesterday, I'd given anything to be here, well not everything, definitely NOT my pendant. Today, I'd rather be back in his cupboard with that strange letter than up here without it, not knowing who sent it or what it was for.

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was quiet, just nibbling at the food, glancing at each other silently. Dudley was in shock. He had screamed, whack his father with his Smeltling stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother and thrown his tortoise through the green house roof- who I had rescued and brought him to the lake safely, and still didn't have his room back. I thought about this very time yesterday and bitterly wished that I had hidden the letter and read it in the cupboard. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying- and practically failing to be nice to me, made Dudley go and get it. We head him banging things down the hallway with his Smeltlings stick. The he shouted, "There is another one! 'Miss A. Potter, the smallest bedroom, 4 Privet Drive-'"

With a strangled cry Uncle Vernon leapt up from his seat and ran down the hall, not even bothering to hear the rest of the sentence, with me right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the thick creamy envelope from him as Dudley was trying to open it, and I made it difficult by grabbing Uncle Vernon around the neck from the behind.

After a few minutes of confused fighting-wrestling, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smeltling stick, got soaking wet – not me- , Uncle Vernon stood up staggering and soaking, gasping for breath, with the now soaked letter clutched tightly in his fat hands.

"Go to your cupboard- I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at me, huffing. "Dudley- go- just go."

I sighed angrily and walked around Uncle Vernon to my new room upstairs. Someone knew I had moved out of my cupboard and they seemed to know I hadn't received the first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? I hoped so. I had a gut feeling it was important. And my gut feeling was _very_ trustworthy.

When the newly repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning, I quickly and silently got dressed and walked down the hallway. Hoping not to wake anybody up. Especially Uncle Vernon.

I walked down to the front door, where the mail would arrive and …

I jumped. I had stepped on something big and squashy, something... Something very _alive_ and _human._

Lights clicked on upstairs and I realised that the big, squashy, alive, human _thing _had been Uncle Vernon's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that I didn't do what I intended to do. Before Uncle Vernon ruined it that was. He shouted at me- and probably woke the whole house, no whole street up- nonstop and then demanded to get him a cup of strong hot tea.

I sighed, and ran my hands into my hair and walked back to the kitchen. I knew the letter would arrive, while I was making the stupid cup of _strong, hot tea_, right onto Uncle Vernon's lap.

I could see my name addressed in emerald green ink on the envelope.

"I want- "I began to say, but Uncle Vernon was already tearing the letter into pieces, grinning madly at me while doing so. I grumbled darkly under my breath.

Uncle Vernon didn't go to work today. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "If they can't deliver them, they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, as if 'You and me' were the only people in the world with sane minds, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived, all of them addressed to Miss A. Potter aka me, in emerald green ink on a thick creamy envelope. As they couldn't go through the mail slot, they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the side, and a few even forced through the small window in the down stairs bathroom. I tried to grab them but Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia seemed to be _everywhere._

Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the crack around the front and back doors so no one go out. He hummed 'Tiptoe through the tulips' terribly as he worked and jumped frequently at small noises such as small rustle of the trees and the sudden whoosh of the wind.

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty four letters all of them for me found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of two dozen eggs that the very confused milkman had handed to Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious phone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia fed the letters in her food processor, making me watch every single twenty four letters turn into useless shreds of paper.

"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked me in amazement. I merely shrugged in response. Who wanted to talk to me _this _badly?

On Sunday Morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and ill but strangely happy.

"No posts on Sundays," he reminded us cheerfully as he spread marmalade in his newspaper, "No dam letters toady –"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head, while I tried not to snicker. Next moment, thirty of forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked helplessly, but I jumped up from my chair, trying to catch one.

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized me around the waist and threw me into the hall like I was a useless _thing_. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out of the room with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. I could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor. I banged my head on the wall, muttering angrily, annoyed that I hadn't managed to get _one_ letter out of few dozens.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his moustache at the same time, leaving strands of hair on the floor"I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

He looked so dangerous with half his moustache missing that no one dared argue.

I trudged upstairs and got dressed in black jeans, long warm shirt, and a jacket and tied my shoelaces neatly. I packed two sets of clothes, undergarments, hairbrush, hair ties and my book of Greek Mythology into my old black school bag.

Ten minutes later we had wrenched our way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag, which obviously wouldn't fit.

We drove. And we drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where we were going. I tried but Uncle Vernon cut me off with a sharp "Shut Up!" Every now and then, Uncle Vernon would take sharp turns that would make me and Dudley crash against the door- and as the result Dudley almost bending the door- and drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Shak'em off… Shake'em off." He muttered insanely every few minutes. I was _seriously _doubting his sanity.

We didn'tstop to eat for drink all day. By night fall, Dudley was howling like a wounded wolf. It was probably his worst day ever. He was obviously hungry, by the loud noise that came from his fat stomach, he had missed half a dozen television programmes and he had never gone so long without blowing up a random, stupid, alien thing on his computer.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy looking hotel on the outskirts of the big city. Dudley shared a room with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia while I got a room to myself. The rooms were all old with damp musty sheets and I could hear Dudley and Uncle Vernonsnoring from the room next door. I sat on the window sill, staring at the light of passing cars and wondering about the letters that seemed to know exactly where I was and fidgeting with the pendant, which was now a habit.

The next morning, we had stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes for breakfast, which Dudley frowned and winkled his face at. But he didn't turn it down. We had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to the table we were seated on. "Scuse me, but is one of you Miss A. Potter? I got about 'undered of these at the front desk."

She held up the familiar letter so we could read the green inked address:

_Miss A. Potter_

_Room 17_

_Railvew Hotel;_

_Cokeworth_

"Yeah, that's me-"I tried to grab the letter, but Uncle Vernon knocked my hand from the letter and an angry huff. The woman stared. "Miss A Potter…"

"I'll take them." Said Uncle Vernon gruffly, standing up quickly and ushering her from the dining room with a nasty glare.

A few minutes later, we were off again. "Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, was a mystery. He'd drive us into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car and off we went again. He same thing happened in the middle of a ploughed field, halfway across a suspension bride and at the top of a multilevel parking garage. "Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, lock us all inside the car and disappeared.

I looked up from the tale of Perseus, the Greek hero, son of Zeus to face Dudley who was shivering and stuttering in his thin shirt. He had tried to look cool in the shirt but the shirt was useless. It was very thin, so Dudley was now blue from head to toe, shivering and sniffling. "Yes. He had gone insane, Dudley. You are probably next."

At that time, it started to rain. Great drops of water beat on the roof of the car, like a loud unwelcomed drum. Dudley lay snivelled, asking Aunt Petunia if he was the next to become mad. And complaining. "It's Monday," he sniffled. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a TV"

Monday… This reminded me something. If it was Monday- and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days of the week because of television- today would be 30th of July. Then tomorrow, Tuesday would be 31st of July. My eleventh birthday. My birthdays were never exactly fun and the only gift I got was some clothes or random rubbish from Dudley. Still, you weren't eleven every day.

Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling, no grinning, wildly. He was also carrying a long thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia, when she asked what he had bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he said cheerfully. "Come on! Everyone out!"

It was freezing outside the car, and thankfully, my jacket was waterproof. I turned around to see what Uncle Vernon was pointing. He was point to what liked a large rock, way out the sea and perched on top, was the most miserable little shack anyone could imagine. One thing was certain. There was no television in there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" Uncle Vernon clapped his hands together gleefully, looking quite mad. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us hi boat!"

A toothless old man came ambling up to us, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-grey water below us.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down our necks and a chilly wind whipped our faces.

I looked out to the water, dipping my hand in the freezing cold water, enjoying the cool feeling of salt water on my hand. Water, especially saltwater or sea water; hot or cold never bothered me. It was like a drug, calm and comforting, along with the booming of the storm and the soft icy rain down my neck. The storm were wonderful, more so if there were no lightning lighting up the sky. As I dragged my hand along, I felt a soft and gentle pull, like a magnetic pull, drawing me closer and closer. A face appeared on the sea, a foggy face, but a face, none or less. It was a face of a man, with messy black hair- that reminded me of my own, but shorter- tan skin and bright sea green eyes. The man looked very alike, to the green eyed man I had seen in my dreams and the vision of the night of my parent's murder. "Come…. Come my little pearl. You will be safe... come…" a soft whisper settled over the old rowboat and the Dursleys shivered."Come…" As if in a trance, I reached out to the water, dipping my whole arm into blue-grey water. The pull was now stronger. It was powerful, but gentle, like a father's comforting touch to a little daughter. I clutched my bag in one hand, and without warning the Dursleys, and almost unconsciously, I dived in to the welcoming sea.

As I hit the water, my mind came back to me. I had just dived into the freezing cold sea, in the middle of the storm. What was I thinking? I would have face palmed myself if I wasn't clutching tightly onto the old straps of my bag. _Stupid_.

I was sinking, down into the deep and bluer and fresher water. It was beautiful, soft and clear blues blending gently with all sorts of sea animals and plants, creating a beautiful and elegant Sea kingdom. Sea Kingdom… My dream, the one that I had on Dudley's birthday, it was of the same green eyed merman with a bronze trident in his hands, in a sea kingdom, I was sure of it. Was it all real? Did it mean something?

I began swimming – after putting away my water proof jacket into my bag as it was useless and I was somehow waterproof myself -following the gentle pull and the current of the water. As I swan, hundreds of fishes and sea animals swam past me, waving their fins in greeting. I waved back, the corners of my lips lifting up in a smile as I watch them swim and bicker amongst each other. I managed to catch some words. 'The King's princess!' and 'ohh look, it's the princess!' Strange…

The King's princess?! Maybe there_ was_ a kingdom down here. Maybe, the myths were real. The sea… Poseidon. I was in the realm of Poseidon, that I knew. But were the myths real? They were called _Myths_ for a reason right? But even to my own ears, it sounded like I was trying to convince myself.

As I swam, my pendant started to glow, covering itself in an eerie blue light, making me blink. The pendant rarely glowed. The only time I had seen it glow was the time I had seen – or imagined, that, I didn't know- a pure white horse with strange blue mane and bright sea green eyes. Maybe that horse was here? As soon as I had that thought, I nearly slapped myself in the back of the head for my idiocy. Something was wrong with my brain today. Horses didn't live under water, let alone the sea. Even strange ones.

Suddenly, a pair of arms grabbed me from behind, making me yelp in surprise. The arms, or I should say my kidnapper-under-the-sea, drag- no swam me to gods-knew-where, ignoring my writhing and wiggling.

I tried cursing out loud, but was cut off by the hand covering my mouth firmly, effectively shutting me up. I sighed. There was nowhere to escape now. Even if I did, how was I going to find the Dursleys again? I was sure the Dursleys were delighted that I attempted suicide- at least in their eyes. And it would be stranger if I just popped up from the sea, perfectly dry and definitely not drowned or crazy. Maybe I had gone crazy. Maybe I got effected by the madness from Uncle Vernon?

After a few minutes of silent swimming, the arms let me go. I leaped back, my eyes wild and narrowed. We were now in a sort of a cave, with smooth grey walls, sea weeds, shells, corals, clams and pearls and clams … absolutely spectacular.

Asoft but hard and firm hands tapped me on my arm, causing me to jerk out of my inspection of the cave. I whirled around, to see who exactly my kidnapper was.

He… I swear on river Styx, that my heart could have stopped right there. The man, looked - no _was_ the man that haunted my dreams and visions. The same messy black locks, sun tanned skin, the green fish tail, the bronze trident clasped firmly on his right hand, and … the same sea green eyes, radiating power.

'Who are you?" I tried to say, but I couldn't get any words out. It was like my lips were glued together. _No…_ my hand went to my mouth, to feel if my lips were glued together. To my relief, they weren't. Somehow, I was mute, hopefully only temporarily. I wouldn't bear it if I couldn't voice my amazing, witty and sarcastic remarks to the world.

The man, grabbed my hand almost nervously, and pressed something small in them and closed them together, letting go of my hands.

'What was it?' I yearned to open my hand to look at the object in my hand, but a small voice countered my curiosity. 'You can't just _look_ at a _thing_ a _stranger_ gave you after _kidnapping_ you!'

In the end, my curiosity won the little mental argument. I looked up to the man, who nodded at my hand, as if to say, '_open and look'_. I gave a little shrug to myself and opened my hand, to find out the object on the palms of my hand, almost innocently.

The object turns out, was a ring. It was beautiful, with elegant and intricate design, made of simple bronze and silver band, with a big stone in the centre. The stone was the exact shade of my... our eyes. The moment I saw the ring, I had a sudden whoosh of power, comforting and welcoming. I slipped on the ring on my right ring finger, as if I had done it for my whole short life.

"Twist the stone if you are in danger. It will protect you" A gentle voice washed over me. I didn't know how a ring could protect me, but for some reason, I didn't doubt the man.

The man smiled at me, like it was something he'd do in a normal Monday. I scrunched up my face in confusion. First, the man _kidnap_s me in the middle of the _storm_, into the _sea._Next, he drags me off to this cave thing and gives me a ring. A bloody ring. Then he _smiles_ at me. He bloody SMILES at me.

But that was the last though as I was shot up, out of the sea, out of sight of the man.

I blinked. Still trying to wrap my thought around the fact that I had gone underwater and then end up in the old rowboat, as if the time never passed and I had never had a wild dive in the sea. Maybe I was just imagining? Maybe I was hallucinating…

A small light flashed from my fingers as if reminding me that… I gaped at my finger openly. The ring was there… right there! On jammed into my right ring finger, glittering though there wasn't much light.

I groaned and out my head in my hands annoyed.

After what it seemed like hours on the rickety boat, we finally arrived at the rock, where Uncle Vernon slipping and sliding like an idiot, led the way to the broken down shack.

The inside was horrible: the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. And it smelled strongly of seaweed. Even though I was okay with seaweed, the small was _strong._ And There were only two rooms, which was… disgusting.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of potato chips each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shrivelled up. I rolled my eyes, Plastic didn't work well with fire. Everyone knew that. Paper worked the best.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully.

He was obviously very good mood. He thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. I privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer me up at all. Who would deliver a _mail_, which was never answered in the middle of the storm?!

As night fell, the promised storm blew up more strongly around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows, making dust fly everywhere. Aunt Petunia found a few mouldy blankets in the secondroom and made up a bed for Dudley on the old moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and I was left alone on the floor with my jacket snuggled around me, reading and shivering under the cold and hard floor.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. I couldn't sleep. I shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, fidgeting with my new ring. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist ticked and I knew I would be eleven on ten minutes.I laid still and watched my birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

I reached out on to the dust covered floor and drew a small birthday cake with eleven candles, fidgeting with my pendant and my ring.

Five minutes to go. I heard something creak outside. I just hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although I might have been a bit warmer if it really did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters, when we got back- and if we ever do- that I'd be able to steal one somehow, without Uncle Vernon tossing them mercilessly in to the fire.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock? I was sure that wasn't a natural sea sound…And (two minutes to go) that funny crunching noise… Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go. Thirty seconds... twenty ... ten... nine… eight… seven... six… five… four… three... two... one...

BOOM!

The whole shack shivered violently and I bolted upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in. Someone big... no huge and defiantly not normal.


	5. 3: Hagrid, the giant of the Keys

**Title:** Andromeda Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

**Writer:** Catarina Persephone

**Disclaimer:** All rights go to J.K Rowling, the amazing author of Harry Potter, and the entire magical world.

(and to Rick Riordan, the awesome author of Percy Jackson and the Olympian , Heroes of Olympus and the modern demigod world for future reference.)

* * *

Chapter Three: _Hagrid, the giant of the keys._

BOOM!

Unknown person knocked again, nearly bursting the wooden door. Dudley jerked awake, falling off the moth eaten sofa in process. "Where's the cannon?" he asked stupidly.

I rolled my eyes. "It's not cannon. Someone is knocking to come in."

There was a loud crash behind us and Uncle Vernon skidded into the room with a rifle in his hands – which I assumed what was in the long thin package.

"Who's there?" he shouted at the door. I put my hands to my ears to block the noise. "I warn you – I'm armed!" I blinked. Were you supposed to tell a stranger that you were armed? Wasn't element of surprise a greater strength?

There was a pause, and I thought the person had given up. Then –

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force; it had been swung or blown off its hinges and landed flat on the floor with a deafening crash, making dust fly everywhere.

A giant of a man, stood in the door way. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild tangled beard, but I could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under the tangles of hair.

The giant squeezed his was into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into to the old frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at us.

"Couldn't make a cup o'tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey…" He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen in fear. "Budge up, yeh great lump," the stranger muttered.

Dudley gave a terrified squeak and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching terrified, behind Uncle Vernon. I would have laughed if the giant didn't turn to me.

"An' here's our dear little Andromeda!" He greeted, his fierce, wild and shadowy face clinked up in a smile, with his black eyes glinting joyously.

I felt myself scrunch up my face in confusion. 'Did I know him?'

"Las' time I saw you, you were only a baby," said the giant, "yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes."

Uncle; Vernon made a funny rasping noise, his face unnaturally purple. "I demand that you leave at once, sir!" he yelled, clutching onto his rifle. "You are breaking and entering."

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa and plucked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's trembling hand, bent in into a knot easily, as if it was made of seaweed, and threw it into the dustiest and the darkest cover of the room.

Uncle Vernon was now looking at the rifle in shock, his mouth opening and closing, but no words coming out, only a small squeak of fear. He looked ridiculous.

"Anyway- Andy- you don't mind if I call you Andy?" asked the giant turning his back on the Dursleys with a dismissive wave of his big hands. I nodded. Andy wasn't a bad nickname and Andromeda was too long. "A Happy Birthday to yeh. Got sommat fer yeh here - I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."

From inside pocket of his black coat, he pulled a slightly squashed white box and held it out nervously. I took the box curiously and opened the box. When the box was uncovered, a small woof of delicious chocolate came out of the box. I peered inside the box and my face broke into a large grin. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with 'Happy Birthday Andy' written on it with green icing that matched my eyes perfectly.

I looked up at the giant, I wanted to say thank you. It was surprising that I had gotten two presents for birthday. Hey, being eleven is special! But I was curious. Who exactly was the giant? He talked like he had knew me and my parents. Maybe he did? But I couldn't be so sure right? The cake might be poisonous. Lots of people used that trick, but the simplest was the deadliest. "Thank you… but who are you?

The giant chuckled, making the whole room shake. "True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts.

Hog… Warts?! What kind of name was that?

Before I could ask what the Hog Warts thing was, Hagrid held out his hand and shook my arm so wildly, I thought my arm was going to fall off from my shoulders.

"What about that tea then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together as his eyes fell on the empty grate. He snorted when he saw the shrivelled chip bags. It _did _looked pretty weird. He bent over the fireplace; I couldn't see what he was doing - and I think that was the point of him bending over- but when he straightened up a second later, fire was roaring warmly, flickering yellow and orange and red, lighting up the damp room. The warmth washed over me like a blanket, making me smile softly and yawn. Hey don't blame! It was midnight for the gods' sake!

The Giant-named-Hagrid- down on the sofa, which sagged drastically under his weight and began to take _all these things_ out of his pockets of his coat.A copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs and a bottle of some weird amber liquid that he took a swig before starting to make tea he had wanted.

Soon the old hut was full of sound and the delicious smell of sizzling sausages. It was lively, smoke coming from the chimney and the flames danced wildly. I loved it and the storm had calmed a bit, the waves soothing as they spilled over each other and the cool whoosh of the sea breeze, making my hair dance, welcoming the breeze, not minding if they messed up my hair. It was already messy.

The hut was quite, except the sizzling sausages and a few clangs here and there. When Hagrid slid the first six fat, juicy and slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little, his feet shuffling. He looked longingly at the sausages, his loud grumbling of his stomach accompanying them. "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley." Uncle Vernon said sharply, his fat hand firmly on Dudley's arm.

The giant chuckled darkly, making his mane of hair shake wildly. " Yet great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursleys, don't worry"

Then, he turned to me and passed the sausages, gesturing with his hands to eat. It was delicious, juicy and I hadn't had anything tasty in a long time, but I didn't take my eyes off Hagrid. The Dursleys, or more Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, but they seemed to know who and why he exactly was here. In the middle of a storm and the whole 'Keeper of keys and grounds of Hog warts' - whatever that was, didn't really explain the whole thing.

"I'm sorry if this sounds rude, but, I still don't really know who you are." Hagrid looked like a giant, or a half giant by his size. But I was sure he was some sort of half-blood as he didn't look anything like the Giants, sons of the primordial goddess Gaia and the primordial god Tartarus.

The said giant took a gulp of his tea from one of the chipped mugs from his pockets and wiped his mouth with the back of his hands. "Call me Hagrid," he said gruffly. "Everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Key at Hogwarts – yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course.

Hog warts all over again. I sighed. "Yeah, about that,what is this Hogwarts Thing? Cause I have _no idea_ what that is."

Hagrid looked shocked, like his black eyes were wide and his mouth formed a perfect large 'O'.

"Err… Sorry?" But it came out like a question, than an apology. Then again, what was I apologising for exactly? Shocking a giant?

"Sorry?" Hagrid bark, like a wild dog and whirled around to face the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows, fear etched on their faces. "It's them who should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't getti' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, her cryin' out loud! Yeh never wonder where yer parent learned it all?" The Dursleys _did _know something.

"All what? I asked scrunching up my face in confusion. All what? The weirdness? The UnDursleish stuff?

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!"He leaped to his feet, and his anger seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.

"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this girl - this girl! - knows nothin' abou'- about ANYTHING?"

I personally thought it was a bit offending. Not knowing about anything? That was just plain rude. But I had a gut feeling that I shouldn't interrupt this angry giant and the 'anything' part didn't sound like they were talking about the usual things I learnt in school, like maths and stuff.

"What anything exactly?" I wondered, as Hagrid waved his hands like I was joking and said dismissively. "About our world, I mean. Your world. My World. Yer parents' world."

"What world?" Maybe the myths were true after all? Or maybe there was another hidden world, which my parents belonged in?

Hagrid now looked as if he was about to explode.

"DURSLEYS!" He boomed, shaking the small shack like he had done before, when he was knocking on the door.

Uncle Vernon, who now looked as pale as a vampire, whispered something that sounded like 'Mimblewimble'. Whatever that was.

Hagrid fixed me with a wild, desperate look.

"But yeh must know about yer mom and dad," he said. "I mean they're famous. You're famous."

"What? My parents were famous?" the conversation was getting weirder and weirder by the second.

"Yeh don't know… yeh don't know…" Hagrid ran his fingers though his hair, staring at me with bewildered eyes.

"Yeh don' know what yeh are?" he said finally.

I blinked. I didn't know who I was? I was human wasn't I?

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice. "Stop!" he commanded. Ahem, tried to sound commanding. "Stop right there, mister! I forbid you to tell the girl anything!"

I narrowed my eyes at him, annoyed.

Any braver man than Vernon Dursley would have trembled under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told her? Never told her what was in the letter Dumbledore left her here? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursleys! An' you've kept it from her all these years?"

"Kept what from me?" .

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic. Yeah like that helped.

Aunt Petunia gave a comical gasp of horror, her face pale and shaking.

"Ah, go boil yet heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Andy - yer a witch."

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

"A witch?" I asked my eyes still narrowed. People didn't just go around and say, "Hey, guess what? You are a witch!" That was plain rude and offensive.

"A witch, o' course," said Hagrid sitting back down on the sofa which groaned and sank even lower. It was a miracle it didn't break yet." A thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon its abou' tiem yeh read yer letter."

Hagrid reached into his many pockets and pulled out the familiar thick yellowish envelope and held it out to me.

I stretched out and grabbed the letter. Being called a witch was one thing, but I was curious. After all, the letter had come all the way to here, just for me to read it.

On the envelope was the familiar emerald address, to Miss A. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-rock, the Sea. How nice, they even knew where I was – yeah, it didn't sound _stalkerish_ at _all_.

I thumbed the purple wax seal and pulled out the letter and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

'_Maybe they were children of Hecate?'_

Headmaster: _ALBUS DUMBLEDORE_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear _Miss Potter,_

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at _Hogwarts Schoolof Witchcraft and Wizardry_. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

_Minerva McGonagall,_

Deputy Headmistress

I stared at the letter. Questions exploded inside my head like fireworks. I took a deep breath. Okay, first things first. At least I knew what Hogwarts was. I turned to Hagrid. "What does it mean, they await my owl?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," Hagrid clapped a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse and from yet another pocket inside is coat, he pulled an owl - a real, live and rather ruffled looking owl- a long feather quill, and a roll of parchment. I stared at the owl, my lips pursed. This owl was in Hagrid's coat for… how long? That was just sad. Owls had always had some sort of special link, not as strong as sea animals and horses, but I always liked them.

With his tongue between his teeth, Hagrid scribbled a note that I could read upside down as:

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_Given Andromeda her letter._

_Taking her to buy her things tomorrow._

_Weather's horrible. Hope you're well._

_Hagrid_

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the ruffled brown owl, which took it in its beak, went to the old wooden door and threw the owl outside into the storm. I watched in horror as he came back and sat down again, as if this was as normal as taking on phones.

"Where was I?" said Hagrid but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced, but looking angry, stepped up.

"She'd not going," he said gruffly, his hands curled into fists at his side.

Hagrid grunted. "I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop her,"

"A what?" I asked. Muggle. I've never heard of that word before. Mortal? Yes. Mundane? Yes. Muggle? No.

"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call non-magic folks like them. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

Uncle Vernon was now beet red. "We swore when we took her in, we'd put a stop to that rubbish!" my eyes narrowed once again. "Swore we'd stamp it out of her! Witch indeed!"

I folded my arms. "You knew that I was a witch. And you've never told me." I felt the familiar tugging in my stomach. Outside, the waves got stronger. Crashing wildly against each other and the storm got worse, loud fat drops of rain crashing down onto the roof of the hut. The rock started shaking, like a miniature earthquake in the middle of the sea.

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! Howcould you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that-that school-and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was - a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had wanted to say all this for years. But my anger didn't calm at the insults she was throwing at my mother.

Aunt Petunia didn't seem to notice the rock shaking, or the storm. "Then she met that _Potter_ at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as - as - abnormal -and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

I took a deep breath for the second time. So my parent _didn't_ die in a car crash.

"Blown up? Of course, all of the car- crash shit was all lies weren't they? Just to… oh yeah? What's the word, 'Stamp out the rubbish!" I said mockingly. I didn't care if I had just cursed out loud. I was too angry to care.

"CAR CRASH!" Roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily, that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner, their courage and bravery all gone and faded out.

"How could a CAR CRASH kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Andromeda Potter not knowin' her own story when every kid in our world knows her name!"

Okay, the car crash didn't kill my parents. Got that. But then, what did? Did they 'blow up' like Aunt Petunia had said?!"What happen to my parents?"I asked.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face and he looked anxious.

"I never expected this," he said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble getting' hold you yeh, how much yeh didn't know." He sighed and rubbed his beard. "A h, Andy, I don't know if I'm the right person to tell yeh- but someone's gotta tell yer – Yer can't got off to Hogwarts not knowin' "

He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.

"Well, its best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh- mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it…" He sat down, stared into the fire for a few minutes with a solemn expression.

"It begins, I suppose, with – with a person called – but its incredible yeh dint know his name, everyone in our world knows-"

"Who?"

"Well – I don't like sayin' the name if I can't help it. No one does."

"Why not? Cause you sound like the person is gone." _But… names have power right?!_It was so confusing.

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Andy, people are still scared. Bilemy, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went…" Hagrid trailed off.

"Bad?" I guessed. In every story or myths, there was always an evil guy who went evil and betrayed people. Who says all stories aren't true?

Hagrid nodded. "Bad. As bad as anyone could go. Worse. Worse than the worst. His name was … …"

Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.

"Could you... Maybe write it down?" I suggested. It looked pretty hard for Hagrid to say it.

"Nah- can't spell it. All right – Voldemort."

Voldemort… I wasn't the one to be fluent on French, but I knew it was something along the lines of 'Flight of death' or 'Flight from Death.' _Perfect_ name for a dark wizard. Though the 'Flight _from_ death', sounded pretty cowardy.

Hagrid shuddered. "Don't make me say it again. Anyway, this- this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too – some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark Days Andy. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare be friendly with strange wizards or witches… terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him – an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safest places left was Hogwarts. Beckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway." He took a deep breath

"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before... probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side."

"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em... maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an' - an' -"

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.

"Sorry," he said. "But it's that sad - knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find - anyway..."

"You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then - an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing - he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn'tdo it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a Powerful, evil curse touches yeh - took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even - but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Andy. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age - the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts - an' you was only a baby girl, an' you lived."

I winced as my head throbbed painfully. To be specific, my scar, the place Voldemort tried to kill me, with a curse. I closed my eyes, as images started to flow into my mind. I saw a blinding flash of vibrant emerald light, more clearly than I had ever remembered before, like Hagrid's story was triggering a hidden and forgotten memory. And for the first time, I saw a pair of red eyes. Not any red, but a flash of bright red, the colour of fresh blood. Along with a high, cold, cruel and merciless laugh.

Hagrid was watching me sadly.

"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot..."

"Load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon, and I jumped. I had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have gotten back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fist were clenched again.

"Now, you listen here, girl, "he snarled at me. "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating would have cured - and as for all this about your parent, well they were weirdos, no denying it, and the worlds better off without them… …"

The tugging in my stomach returned. And I heard a wave of water. I was too angry to be bothered to stop it. I barely noticed Hagrid leaping from the sofa and drawing a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat.

"– always knew they'd come to a sticky end-"That was it. The last straw.

I watched triumph as a thick and powerful snake of sea water came through the cracks and wrapped itself around Uncle Vernon's body, effectively shutting him up.

Hagrid looked proud at my work on Uncle Vernon. "I'm warning you, Dursley - I'm warning you – one more word…"

In danger of being either speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant or being strangled to death by a little old me with my water snake, Uncle Vernon's couragefailed again; he flattened himself – or as much as he can – against the wall and felt silent. I let the snake uncurl itself from Uncle Vernon and the snake slithered back to me, curling its watery body next to me, its head on my lap.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back don on the sofa, which this time, sagged right down to the floor. He smiled at me. "Yeh see that? That was impressive magic, even mos' of the greatest wizards can't do that."-

But I still had millions of questions swirling in my mind like a wild stuck out in my mind. "But what happened to Vol – sorry – I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Good question, Andy. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see... he was gettin' more an' more powerful - why'd he go?"

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don~ reckon they could've done if he was comin' back.

"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Andy. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on - I dunno what it was, no one does - but somethin' about you stumped him, all right."

Hagrid looked at me with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but instead of feeling pleased and proud, I felt… …. I don't know _weird._ I didn't do whatever every other wizards out there thought I did. I was just _there,_ when Voldemort tried to kill my parents. I wasn't the girl-who-lived. I was just… just…

"Hagrid," I said, stroking the head of my water snake. "Are you sure I am a witch? I mean, yeah I have that difference and magic but… its different, more channelled into water."

Hagrid chuckled, oblivious to my point. It wasn't natural that one wizard's magic was stronger and more channelled to one element.

"Not a witch, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?"

I stared at the snake. Hagrid,_ did_ have a point. Every odd thing that I had ever made my aunt and uncle furious with me happened when I was upset or angry. Chased by Dudley's gang, I was faster than normal, and was always out of their reach… getting my hair to grow back to normal… and I had got my revenge on Dudley though I had to pay a price, without actually realising it. Didn't I set a Boa Constrictor on him on his birthday?

I lookedback at the snake that was curled around my waist and back at Hagrid, who was positively beaming. "I guess so."

"See?" said Hagrid. "Andromeda Potter, not a witch – you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."

But Uncle Vernon surely wasn't going to give in without a fight because he stepped up from the shadows. "Haven't I told you that she's NOT going?" he hissed. My water snake hiss back at him. "He's going to Stonewall High and she'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and she needs all sorts of rubbish – spell books and wands and – "

"If she wasn't ter go, a Muggle like you won't stop her." Growled Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's daughter goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Her name's been down ever since she was born! Been down since Lily had her in her stomach! She's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and she won't know herself. She'll be with youngsters of her own sorts, fer a change, an' he'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had, Albus Dumble- "

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!" Uncle Vernon yelled, cutting Hagrid's rant off.

But, he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head. "NEVER" He thundered. "INSULT-ALBUS-DUMBLEDORE-IN-FRONT-OF-ME!"

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley – there was a flash of violet light, and a sound of firecrackers, a sharp squeal of a pig and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in he turned his back on them, I saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers. I laughed, squealing and snorting, with tears streaming down my face. I hadn't laugh properly in a long time and a pig's tail just suited Dudley's fat butt so amazingly.

Uncle Vernon roared, both terrified and angry. Pulling shrieking Aunt Petunia and panicking Dudley into the other room, he gave on last nasty and terrified look and slammed the door loudly.

Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard. "Shouldn'ta lost my temper," he said ruefully. ""But it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway ther wasn't much left ter do"

He looked sideways at me under bushy eyebrows. I was wiping tears from my face, with my hand, still snickering.

"Be grateful if yeh didn't, mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm – err – not supposed ter do magic, strictly speaking'. I was slowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff – one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job."

"Whyaren'tyou supposed to do magic?" I asked, curious

"Oh,well - I was at Hogwarts myself but I –er – got expelled, ter tell yer the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore." He clutched tightly on his pink umbrella.

"Why were you expelled?"

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid loudly, probably to avoid the subject. Talking about himself getting expelled wasn't the nicest conversation you could have. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that."

He took off his thick black coat and threw it, landing in my lap in result. I raised a brow. What am I supposed to do with it?

"You can kip under that," he said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets." And he settled down himself on the sofa and fell asleep, snoring a second later.

I yawned and stretched out, putting Hagrid's coat over to keep warm, with the water snake curled up around my torso.

Today was the best birthday I had, in eleven years. Getting the ring, the letter to Hogwarts, meeting Hagrid and the best of all? I wasn't the only one who was unnatural and strange. It wasn't strange at all. After all, it was_ magic_.


	6. 4: Diagon Alley

**Title:** Andromeda Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

**Writer:** Catarina Persephone

**Disclaimer:** All rights go to J.K Rowling, the amazing author of Harry Potter, and the entire magical world.

(and to Rick Riordan, the awesome author of Percy Jackson and the Olympian , Heroes of Olympus and the modern demigod world for future reference.)

* * *

_Chapter Four: Diagon Alley_

I woke up early the next morning, with a terrible headache. Even though my eyes were tightly shut, I could tell it was broad daylight.

As I messaged my temple, the events of last night flooded into my brain. 'Was it a dream?' I murmured, twisting my new ring. Wait…. Ring? It wasn't real… Was it?

I peaked one eye open, wincing as the unnaturally bright light filled my vision. 'Well, Apollo is certainly happy today.' I grumbled and I brought my right hand in front of my face, my green eye narrowing at the sight of the ring jammed firmly onto my finger.

'Huh,' my thought were all jumbled now, bits of pieces of memories, a flash of bright emerald light, the burning pain on my forehead, mixed with the memories of last night – if it was real, that was – Hagrid, the giant, finding out that I was a witch, the magic school for wizards and witches called Hogwarts.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

There was suddenly a loud tapping noise.

'Maybe it's Aunt Petunia demanding I get up and make breakfast?' I mused, my eyes now both open.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"For the gods' sake!" I grumbled as the tapping started again. "If that bloody tapping sounds again, I going to murder whatever that was, and feed the flesh to Aquila.

I looked down.

The water snake named Aquila, born yesterday, was now a puddle of water next to me.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I gritted my teeth, seething. Can't a girl get some peaceful sleep? The tapping person was practically begging for murder. Maybe the taping thing was suicidal and wanted to go to Hades' realm badly.

Shrugging, I sat up and Hagrid's heavy coat fell off me with a soft thump, landing on the wood floor. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm obviously over. Much to my disbelief Hagrid, the giant was fast asleep on the collapsed sofa.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. _

The annoying tapping started again.

I stretched, and walked over to the old window and stared at tiny creature in front of me.

A small owl was raping its claw on the window, a roll of newspaper held in its beak. The owl was warm hazel, the feathers gleaming gold under the bright light.

I jerked the rusty window opened and the owl swooped in, dropping the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who was by the way - still asleep. I watched curiously as the owl fluttered onto the floor and began to attack Hagrid's coat, nipping with its beak.

"Why are you attacking Hagrid's coat?" I asked, not even caring that I just asked a question to an owl. The owl stopped for a second, jerked its head to one of the Coat's many pockets like it explained everything, and then carried on savaging the coat.

"Umm, Hagrid? " I nudged the giant with my foot. "There is an owl attacking your pocket. I think it's looking for something."

"Pay him," Hagrid grunted into the sofa. So the Owl was a boy then. But… Paying him?!

"What?"

"He wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets." Hagrids' coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets – bunches of keys, slug pellets , balls of string, peppermint humbugs, tea bags (I didn't bother asking why he had those things in hispocket)… finally, I found a handful of strange looking coins.

"Give him five knuts." Hagrid mumbled sleepily.

"Knuts?" I looked at the pile on my hand. The coins were mostly bronze and silver, with a few golden ones.

"The little bronze ones."

I counted out five little bronze coins, and the owl held out his leg, revealing a small leather pouch attached to the leg. I cooed at the owl as I poured the coins in. He looked adorable.

After the owl flew off through the open widow, Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up and stretched.

"Best be off, Andy, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school."

I looked up from turning over a golden wizard coin. 'Um... Hagrid?" I bit my lip, my hand flipping the coin until it landed flat onto my palm.

"Mm?" said Hagrid, pulling on his huge boots.

"I don't have any money – Uncle Vernon won't pay for me to go to Hogwarts." I said bluntly, looking up.

Hagrid stood up and scratched his head. "Don't worry about that, D'yeh think yer parent didn't leave yeh anything?"

"But, the house was destroyed and …" Hagrid cut me off.

"They didn' keep their gold in the house! And the Potters are a famous and old family in the wizarding world. Nah, first trip fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold – an' I wouldn't say no the a bit o' yer birthday cake, either."

The bank part got my attention. "Wizards have banks?"

"Just one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."

I blinked as I reached for a bit of sausage. "Goblins?"

"Yeah - so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Andy Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe - 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly. "He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you gettin' things from Gringotts -knows he can trust me, see.

After the explanation about the Gringotts, run by goblins – a place you had to be mad to try rob – I finished my breakfast of cold sausages and chocolate fudge cake and got changed into a fresh pair of jeans and shirt. I secured my book into my bag and stood up.

"Got everythin'? Come on, then." Hagrid waited at the door.

I followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was quite clear now, and the sea gleamed in the sunlight, as if reflecting my happy mood. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, with a lot of water pooled in the bottom after the storm from last night.

"How did you get here?" There were no other boat that Hagrid could have sailed in.

Hagrid rubbed his neck sheepishly. "Flew,"

"Flew?" I couldn't vision Hagrid flying. It was too weird.

"Yeah – but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now I've got yeh."

I shrugged. "Fine with me, I like the sea better." Flying didn't sound so bad, but as flying sent off warning bells in my head.

We settled down into the boat, with me still trying to imagine Hagrid flying.

"Seems a shame ter row, though," Hagrid gave me another if his sideways looks. "If I was ter – er- speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?"

"Course not." I dipped a hand in the gleaming water, waving it around, gently giving us a push from the rock.

Hagrid pulled out the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and we sped off towards the land, the calm waves helping us.

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" I asked.

"Spells –enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. "They say there's a dragon guardin' the high security vaults. Like the Potter family vaults and the Blacks and other old pureblood families. And then Yeh gotta find yer eay – Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of Hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."

I sat silently as I thought about what Hagrid had just told me. The Blacks… they triggered some memory. The one of the shaggy black dog, Padfoot.

Hagrid was reading his newspaper, the Daily Prophet. I learnt from Uncle Vernon that people liked to be left alone while they did this, but it was hard, because of my ADHD and the whirlpool of questions.

"Ministry o' magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid mutters, Turing the page, and rubbing his moustache.

"There is a Ministry of Magic?" I asked before I could stop myself. Stupid ADHD.

"Course," said Hagrid looking up. "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o' course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls everyday morning askin' fer advice."

"What does the Ministry of Magic do?"

"Well, their main job is to keep it from the muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the county."

"Why?" But I could imagine why. If some people were like the Dursleys, it would be bad for the wizards and witches.

"Why? Blimey, Andy, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, were best left alone."

At this moment the boat bumped gently into the harbour wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper, and we clambered up the stone steps onto the street.

People on the streets stared a lot at Hagrid as we walked through the little town to the stain. I couldn't really blame them. Not only Hagrid was twice the size as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary – at least in mine and everyone else's eyes- like parking meters and saying loudly, "See that Andy? Things these muggles dream up, eh?"

"Hagrid," I ran to keep up with Hagrid's fast pace and big steps. "Did you say there are _dragons_ at Gringotts?"

"Well, so they say," Hagrid replied. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."

I stared at him in disbelief. "You'd like one? An actual dragon? An actual fire \–breathing, gigantic dragon that could bite your head off?"

"Wanted one ever since I was a kid – here we go."

While we were talking about how Hagrid wanted a dragon since he was three, we had arrived at the station. Hagrid, who didn't understand anything about the 'Muggle Money' as he called it, gave the bills to me so I could buy the tickets to the train in –thankfully - five minutes time.

People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary yellow circus tent, whistling.

"Still got yer letter, Andy?" he asked as he counted the stitches. I took the parchment envelope out of my bag and looked at Hagrid.

"Good," said Hagrid. "There is a list there of everything yeh need in Hogwarts."

I unfolded the second piece of parchment I hadn't noticed last night because of all the chaos, and read:

_**HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY**_

_UNIFORM_

First-year students will require:

1\. Three sets of plain work robes _(black)_

2\. One plain pointed hat _(black)_ for day wear

3\. One pair of protective gloves _(dragon hide or similar)_

4\. One winter cloak_ (black, silver fastenings)_

_**Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags**_

_COURSE BOOKS_

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by _Miranda Goshawk_

A History of Magic by _Bathilda Bagshot_

Magical Theory by _Adalbert Waffling_

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by _Emetic Switch_

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by _Phyllida Spore_

Magical Drafts and Potions by _Arsenius Jigger_

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by _Newt Scamander_

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by _Quentin Trimble_

_OTHER EQUIPMENT_

Wand cauldron _(pewter, standard size 2) _set

Glass or crystal phials

Telescope set

Brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

_**PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS**_

"Can we buy all this in London?" I wondered out loud. I've never been to London before, but I knew enough that they probably didn't sell broomsticks or magic wands and spell books.

"If yeh know where to go," said Hagrid

Although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he obviously was not used to getting there in the_ normal_ way. He got stuck in the ticket barriers on the Underground and complained loudly that the seats were far too small and the trains too slow. They seemed perfectly fine to me.

"I don't know how the Muggles can manage without magic," he said as we climbed a broken down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with colourful and lively shops.

Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all I had to do was keep close behind him as we passed gaping crowds. We passed books shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but not one shop looked as though it might sell a magic wand. The whole place looked normal, with ordinary streets full of ordinary people. I wasn't really sure if there actually were piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath England. Or were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks?

Was the whole you–are- \a witch thing some huge joke that Dursleys had cooked up just to mock me? Dursleys had no sense of humour, but anything to mock me? But, somehow, even though what Hagrid had told me was pretty much unbelievable, I couldn't help but trusting him. Well not fully yet, but I trusted him enough.

"This is it," Hagrid stopped at one point. "The Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

The Leaky Cauldron, turned out to be a tiny, grubby looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, I wouldn't have noticed it was there. Even the people on the streets were hurrying past without a single glance. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the colourful record shop on the other if they could see the Leaky Cauldron at all. I had a weird feeling that the pub was hidden from the muggles' sight, so only the magic people could find it. Before I could ask Hagrid about this, Hagrid lead me inside.

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of what looked like sherry. One of them was smoking a long wooden pipe. A tiny man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked admittedly like a toothless walnut.

The low buzz of chatter stopped when we walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass off the counter. "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," Hagrid clapped his huge hand onto my shoulder, and I almost collapsed as the heavy hand pushed me down.

"Good Lord," the bartender peered at me. "Is this – can this be-?"

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent. I could hear a pin drop. Literally. I think someone actually _did _drop one.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old walnut named 'Tom' "Andromeda Potter… what an honour."

He hurried out from behind the bar, and rushed forward, and seized my hand, unshed tears in his eyes. "Welcome back Miss Potter, Welcome back"

I didn't know what to say or do. Everyone was staring at me, like I was some kind of a rare species of an animal that everyone was admiring. It was… Weird.

The old woman stared at me while puffin on a piper, without realizing it had gone out. One of the old women who were drinking sherry dropped the glass. Hagrid was beamed.

Then there was a great scarping of chairs and the next second, I was shaking hands with everybody in the Leaky cauldron. Well, more like everybody shaking my hand. Not the other way round.

"Doris Crockford, Miss. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Miss, Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand- I'm, all of a flutter,"

"Delighted, Miss Potter, just can't I tell you, Diggle's the name. Dedalus Diggle"

"I've seen you before!" I said, just as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off his head in excitement "You bowed to me once in a shop!"

"She remembers!" Cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? She remembers me!"

I shook hands again and again until my arm felt like it was going to fall off- and Doris Crockford kept coming back for more.

Then a man about in his late twenties or mid-thirties made his way forward, very nervously, his left eye twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" Hagrid seemed to recognise the man. "Andy, Meet Professor Quirell. He will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell as he grasped my hands. "C-cant t-tell you how p- pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor?" I asked pleasantly, even though the warning bells were ringing in maximum level in my head and my stomach was tightening.

"D-Defence against the D-D-Dark Arts," he muttered as if he'd rather not think about it.

"N-not that you n-need it, eh, Miss P-P-Potter?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the thought of vampires.

It took me and Hagrid at least ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.

"Must get on- lots ter buy. Come on Andy."

Doris Crockford shook my hand one last and final time, and Hagrid led me through the bar and out into a small, brick walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few yellow weeds.

Hagrid grinned.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you were famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh – mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

"Is he always that nervous?" The man seemed quite _unusual_.

"Oh yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took off a yer ter get some first-hand experience… They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag- never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject now, where's me umbrella?"

Vampires? Hags? My mind was swimming. Meanwhile, Hagrid was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"Three up and two across."He muttered. "Right stand back Andy." He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.

The bricks he touched quivered – it wriggled- in the middle, a small hole appeared, and the bricks arranged themselves, shifting and spinning. A second later, there was an archway large enough even for Hagrid, and archway leading into a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome." Said Hagrid, he was grinning madly. "To Diagon Alley."

-Diagon Alley-

I stared at the alley in amazement as we stepped through the archway. I looked back over my shoulder and I could see the archway shrink instantly, the bricks back to the solid brick wall.

Sunlight shone brightly on a stacks of cauldrons outside the nearest shop, making them glimmer and sparkle with colour. 'Cauldrons – All sizes – Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver- Self Stirring –Collapsible,' there was a sigh hanging over us.

Hagrid looked to where I was looking. "Yeah, you'll be needin' one,"said Hagrid. "But we gotta get yer money first."

As I walked up the street, I wished I could have about eight more pair of eyes. Well, not literally, but there was so much interesting and unusual things on the street.

The street was filled with shops, with signs hanging on the walls and doors, people doing their shopping dressed in robes and pointed hats.

A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as we passes, muttering "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles at ounce, they're mad…."

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sigh saying 'Erylop's Owl Emporium', full of different kinds of owls. Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown … and one caught my eyes. A snowy owl, the only snowy owl in the Emporium, with large deep intelligent amber eyes. She was _gorgeous_.

On another shop, several boys and girls about my age – probably- had their faces- and noses- presses against the window staring at a what looked and probably was a broomstick, on display.

"Look," I heard one of them whisper in awe. "The New Nimbus Two Thousand – fastest ever!"

There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instrument like thing that I've never seen or heard before, window stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eel's eyes – which was disgusting- piles of spell books, quills and rolls of parchment, potion bottles – which looked quite interesting- and globes of the moon… was that even possible?

"Gringotts," said Hagrid.

While I was looking around, we reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops and it really looked like a bank with Colum's of white marbles. Standing beside the shining bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was…

"Yeah, that's a goblin." Hagrid muttered quietly as we walked up the white stone steps towards the goblin.

The goblin was about a head or so shorter than me. He had a swarthy and clever – but ugly- face, pointed bread, and… very long claws like fingers and feet. He bowed as we walked in inside

After the bronze door and the goblin, were a second pair of doors, stunning silver this time, with words engraved on them:

'_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn_

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there.'_

"Sounds… interesting." I said after reading.

Hagrid nodded. "Like I said, Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it,"

A pair of goblins bowed at us through the silver doors, and we arrived in a vast marble hall.

Hundreds of more goblins sat in high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones – rubies, sapphires, through thick eyeglasses.

There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of the doors.

Hagrid and I made for the free counter.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Miss Andromeda Potter's safe vault."

"You have Miss Andromeda Potter's key, Sir?" came the reply of the cranky looking goblin.

"Got it somewhere," Hagrid started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of mouldy dog biscuits over the goblins' book of numbers. The Goblin wrinkled his nose. It was pretty disgusting, and I turned to watch a goblin on my right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

"Got it," said Hagrid, with a pile of dog biscuits, chicken feathers and a few dormice on the poor goblin's book much to the goblin's distaste. He held up a tiny gleaming golden key.

The goblin plucked it out of Hagrid's big hands and studies it closely. "That seemed to be in order."

"An' I've got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest ridiculously. "It's about the You-Know-What in the vault Seven hundred and thirteen." He whispered the last part, which was useless since his voice was much louder than normal, passing a pale yellow envelope from inside his coat.

The goblin read the letter carefully, like it was a very dangerous nuclear bomb.

"Very well," he said after a moment, handing the letter back to Hagrid. "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin – which was quite obvious as the bank was run by goblins.

Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets – leaving a pile of crumbs- Hagrid and I followed Griphook towards one of the door leading off the hall.

"What's the You-Know-What in the vault seven hundred and thirteen?" I asked as we followed Griphook.

"Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret, Hogwarts business, Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth to tell yeh that." And Hagrid did not say anything more about the You-Know-What (which was a stupid name in my opinion) in the vault seven hundred and thirteen.

Griphook held the door open for us, and I was surprised at what was in front of me. I had expected more marbles and ivory

We were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming bronze torches. It sloped steeply and dangerously downward and there were little railway trucks on the floor made of wood and metal.

Before I could ask, Griphook whistled.

A small cart came hurtling up the track towards them in a dangerously fast speed and somehow managed to stop right in front of us.

Griphook gestured with his right hand- his left was holding a small square torch – for us to climb in, and we did, Hagrid with some difficulty, and we immediately shot off.

The cart hurtled through a maze of twisting passages, turning left, then right, then right, then left, then middle fork, then right, then left, … impossible for anyone to remember, speeding down the railway. The rattling cart seemed to know it's own way – and hopefully did- because Griphook defiantly wasn't steering.

My eyes stung a little as the cold wind rushed past, but I kept my eyes wide open. It was much to fun to miss anything, and I felt sudden surge to laugh. So I did, making Griphook smirk and Hagrid to look at me like I had suddenly gone insane.

The cart plunged deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

"Do you know," I yelled at Hagrid over the noise of the cart. "The difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

Hagrid grunted. "Don't ask me questions now, I think I'm gonna be sick."

And he really did look very green.

"The Stalagmite' got an 'm' in it!" I yelled once again, whooping as the cart hurtled round a corner.

Soon, the cart stopped beside a small door in the passage wall, and Hagrid had to go out and lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling and to stop his breakfast from re-appearing.

Griphook unlocked the door, with the golden key I didn't even realize that he was holding, and a lot of green smoke came billowing out, very randomly, and very dramatic.

But, when the exceptionally dramatic smoke cleared, I gaped at the site. The vault was full of glittering coins, piled up on the ground in a literal mountains of golds, and silvers and other precious gems. There were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver, heap of the little bronze knuts.

Hagrid smiled. "All Yours!" He confirmed, taking the key from Griphook.

All mine… it was unbelievable. The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd have taken it from me before I could even blink. And all the times they complained how much I cost to keep? I didn't even cost much, just basic things like food- that I didn't really have much- clothes – all hand me downs or second hands- and shelter. They didn't even_ use_ the cupboard in the first place!

And there was a small fortune belonging to me, buried deep under London, away from the hateful mortals – or should I say muggles' eyes.

Hagrid handed me a small blue and white pouch with a thin strap so I could sling it over my shoulder. "It can hold mor' money than it looks. It's charmed with an extension charm."

Hagrid showed me the coins as he helped me stuff them into the bag.

"The gold ones are Galleons and the silver is a sickle. The bronze ones are –"

"Knuts."

"Right. So, seventeen Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a sickle, it's easy enough."

Hagrid looked into the bag full of coins. "That should be enough fer a couple o' terms, here." He handed me the golden key along with the pouch.

I raised an eyebrow at him

"It's your key to your vault. But keep it safe will yah?"

I nodded, slipped the key onto the bronze chain along with the waterdrop pendent that hung consistently around my neck and swung the bag over my shoulder. It was nice to have something to call officially mine.

Hagrid scratched his neck. "Now that's all sorted," He turned to Griphook. "Vault Seven hundred and thirteen now, please and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only" Maybe it was just my imagination, but Griphook seemed to have this really weird evil smirk on his face as we stepped into the cart.

After a few moments in the cart going deeper, Griphook's words seemed like a lie. As the cart rushed down deeper, and steeper, it gained more and more speed, and the air was getting colder as we somehow managed the tight corners. Yeah, _totally_ one speed only.

We went rattling over an underground ravine, and I leaned over to try to see what was down at the dark abyss only to be pulled back by Hagrid by the back of my neck. Hagrid groaned and shuddered, his face sickly puke green, and shook his head in the universal 'no' sign.

So I did the next best thing. Enjoying the ride. I laughed and shrieked as wind whistled past my ears, my dark hair flying in a mass of curls and waves.

Soon, we arrived at the Vault Seven hundred and thirteen. Which strangely didn't have a key whole or any sort of lock visible.

Before I could ask, Griphook stepped up. "Stand back," he said importantly. He ran his long clawed fingers down the metal door and the door melted away, revealing a big vault looking quite empty.

"What-"

"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped there." Griphook interrupted me.

I eyed the vault warily. "And how often do you check if anyone's inside?"

"About once every ten years." Griphook answered with a very evil and nasty grin.

I shuddered and leaned inside to see what was inside the seemingly empty top security vault Seven hundred and thirteen.

But to my disappointment, the only thing inside seemed to be a small grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper, tied with thing brown string. Not what I expected in the 'top secret Hogwarts business 'vault.

Hagrid picked it up gently from the floor and tucked it inside his coat with deep care. I wanted to ask what the package was, but I knew I wouldn't get a straight answer.

Hagrid turned back to the cart. "Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best in I keep me mouth shut." Hagrid warned, stepping into the cart with slight shift of hesitation. I followed suit, eager to look for the school supplies.

-Diagon Alley-

One wild cart ride later, Hagrid and I stood blinking and squinting in the sunlight outside Gringotts. I squinted to the streets filled with shops, and looked back to the list of supplies. I didn't know where to go or what to get first. It felt strange, having a bag full of money. I didn't know how many Galleons where there to a pound, but I knew that it was more than Dudley ever had.

"Might as well het yer uniform,," said Hagrid, nodding toward the shop called ' Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.' "Listen, Andy, would yeh mind if I slipped off her a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them, Gringotts carts." Hagrid did look sick and very close to puking, so I nodded at Hagrid and entered the shop alone, biting my lip nervously.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed in all kinds of different shades of mauve. "Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when I opened my mouth to speak."Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact." She explained at my confused look.

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a different witch pinned up his long black robes.

I turned back to Madame Malkin. "Can I can some other clothes too? Umm, some robes and cloaks, and other uh… muggle clothes?" I really needed new clothes. All of my second hand ones were in the Dursley's house.

Madame Malkin beamed. "Robes, cloaks, some muggle clothing?"

I nodded.

"What colour? Greens and blues. They'd bring out your eyes. Dark pallets."

I nodded again as Madam Malkin steered me to the back of the store.

Madam Malkin had me stand on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over my head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the pale boy with equally pale hair. "Hogwarts, too?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the blonde boy. He has a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll get my father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

The pale boy now sounded like Dudley. Snobbish, thinking they were superior just because of their rich daddy.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," I said shortly

"Do you play Quidditch at all?"

"No." I had no idea what Quidditch was.

"I do – Father says it's crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree." He bragged. "Know what house you'll be in yet?"

I shrugged, slightly helpless. I didn't know anything about Hogwarts.

The boy seemed to be okay with the one sided conversation. "Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," I murmured, tilting my head. Hufflepuff? That sounded silly and …. Puffy. There was no other way to explain that. The conversation, even though it was one sided, was quite interesting. Now, I had more questions to ask Hagrid. About school houses and Quidditch.

"I say, look at that man!" the boy broke off his explanation Slytherin and greens and snakes. He jerked his chin toward the big front window where Hagrid was standing grinning and pointing two large ice creams in his hand.

"That's Hagrid." I said. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," the boy drawled. "I've heard of him. He's sort of a servant, isn't he?"

I raised an eyebrow. The boy's attitude was getting quite annoying and frankly, he could be a long lost brother of Dursley. "He's a gamekeeper."

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's sort of savage – lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"He's not that bad. " I defended. I was surprised how cold my voice sounded. And it seemed that the boy was surprised as well. He flinched and shuddered. He squared up his shoulders trying to compose himself.

"Do you?" a nasty sneer was on his face. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They are in the Underworld. Either Fields of Asphodel or Elysium. I like to think they are in Elysium and have chosen to be reborn three times so they can get to the Isles of the Blessed." I replied coldly.

"What?" The boy looked thrown back and confused, his pale eyebrows scrunched up.

I rolled my eyes. "They're dead."

"Oh, sorry," He didn't sound sorry at all. "But they were _our_ kind, weren't they?"He asked haughtily.

I frowned at the emphasised 'our' "They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same; they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they got the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families." He paused and peered at me. "What's your surname anyway?"

I wanted to snort. This boy, who was so prejudiced, didn't even ask me my name when he struck up the conversation. Well, neither did I, but technically, I wasn't talking to him. _He_ was talking to _me_.

"P-"

Before I could answer, Madam Malkin – who had disappeared since the boy had noticed Hagrid – came back holding a large wrapped package. "That's the Hogwarts uniform and your other clothes, my dear." She handed the package to me, which turned out to be lighter than I expected. Magic, I supposed. "Have a look."

Inside were gorgeous robes, dresses and cloaks, shirts and stockings, and other pretty clothes. I beamed at Madam Malkin. "Thank you." I said, I slipped off the stool gracefully, paying.

As I stepped through the door, a voice called from the back.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," The boy show I still didn't know the name of, drawled.

I rolled my eyes. "Bye Blondie."

I stayed silent, pondering the things that the pale boy had said. About Quidditch, the houses and wizarding families. And how much I _didn't_ know about them.

"What's up?" asked Hagrid.

I shrugged. "Nothing" I lied.

We walked down the street, stopping at a shop to buy parchments and quills. I looked in awe at the rows of different coloured bottles of inks and gorgeous quills and stacks of fresh parchments. I chose a bottle of ink that changed colours (from emerald to purple to blue…) and a gorgeous dark blue quill along with a set of normal bottles of black ink and a dark feathered quill and a stack of parchments.

When we left the shop, will bag full of parchments and ink bottles, I asked Hagrid a question I badly wanted to ask.

"Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

Hagrid looked at me like I'd insulted him personally. "Blimey, Andy, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know – not knowin' about Quidditch!"

I shot him a dirty look. "Not helping." I grumbled and I explained about the drawling pale boy.

"- and he said people from the Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in."

Hagrid shook his head. "Yer not from a Muggle family. If he'd known who yeh were – he's grown up knowin' yer name if his parents are wizardin' folk. You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Yer from a long line of powerful wizards. Yer mum wasn't a muggle. She's a witch. A pureblood and powerful one at that. And look who she had fer a sister!"

"What's a pureblood?"

Hagrid shook his head. "Nothing to worry about."

I decided to go on a safer subject. "So what is Quidditch?"

"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like – like soccer in the Muggle world – everyone follows Quidditch – played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls – sorta hard ter explain the rules."

I nodded. Quidditch sounded interesting. "And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"

"School houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but – "

"Who knows, maybe I'll end up in Hufflepuff"

"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin. " Hagrid said darkly. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."

"Volde-" I corrected myself when Hagrid winced. "Sorry, You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"

"Year's an' years ago," said Hagrid muttered gloomily. I dropped the subjects after that.

We bought my school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked high to the ceiling with books as big as a paving stone bound in thick leather; tiny books the size of a postage stamp covered in silk; books full peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even Dudley, who never read anything – I wasn't sure he could read at all-, would have gone wild to get his fat hands on these books displayed at the shop. I hummed tunelessly as I navigated through the crowds of people, the stack in my hands growing larger and higher. I had grabbed the necessary school books and a bunch of other things. A copy of the 'Quidditch through All Ages' by Kennilworthy Whisp; Curses and Counter curses- wanted to test the spells on Dudley; Book of Pureblood Etiquette – Hagrid didn't exactly explained about the whole 'Pureblood' thing, and a thick leather bound book with golden edges and a golden title 'Βιβλίο της Ελληνικής Μυθολογίας' Which I easily translated to 'Book of Greek Mythology'. I had to return the other mythology book to the library and I wanted my own copy. Hogwarts: A History – a book all about Hogwarts and the houses and such.

When my pile reached my forehead – I could barely see, Hagrid practically dragged me out the store before I could get more. "Yer like yer mum. Merlin, Lily did love her books." He commented before dragging me off to another store.

In the store for caldrons and scales, we bought the pewter cauldron,(Hagrid didn't let me by a gold one. "It says pewter on yer list" ) a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope.

Then we visited the Apothecary, which smelled horrible, a mix of bad eggs and rotten cabbages, very interesting. Interesting enough to make up for the smell. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of herbs, string of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling – Hagrid nearly got sliced by them. While I examined the gorgeous silver unicorn horns – poor unicorns! – At twenty-one galleons each, and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes. (five Knuts a scoop), Hagrid went up to the man behind the counter for my supply of basic potion ingredients.

Back outside the smelly Apothecary, Hagrid checked my list again with squinted eyes.

"Just yer wand left – A yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

I felt my cheeks go red. I was used to not getting presents. "You don't have to –"

"I know I don't have to" Hagrid cut me off with a grin. "Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everything."

The Eeylops Owl Emporium, a dark store full of rustling and flickering of jewel-bright eyes, had a _lot_ of owls. Barn owls, Eagle owls, Burrowing eagles… I looked around the shop for the snowy owl that had caught my eyes earlier. "There!" I pointed to the window, where the snowy owl was standing on a perch, her head under her wing as she slept. Hagrid nodded. "That's a beauty al'right."

Few minutes later, I was now a owner of a stunning snowy owl,-who by the way was still sleeping. I beamed at Hagrid as we left the shop. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don't expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivander left now – only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand."

A magic wand… That was what I was most excited about. A real magic wand!

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read 'Ollivander: Makers of File Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple velvet cushion in the dusty window. I thought there was another set of letters, but it was so faded that I only caught a few silvery faded words. 'Blessings 'Athena' and 'Welcome'. Strange. And I caught a small silver carving of a owl too. I didn't really think about the owl much. Owls were common in the wizarding world right?"

A creepy tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as we stepped inside. It was a tiny place, completely filled with selves stacked high with small thin boxes, and dusty old counter and single spinning chair, that Hagrid sat on to wait. The place was so silent it was as if I 'de stepped to a very strict library with a old and scary madam who 'shh'ed at every little sound. I bit down on the next stream of questions that just popped inside my mind and I looked at the shelves where thousands of narrow boxes was piled neatly right up to the ceiling to distract myself. This didn't help at all as they brought up another bunch of questions. For some reason, I felt my neck pickle and Goosebumps appeared on my arms. The silence and the dust seemed to tingle with some sort of secret veil of magic.

"Good afternoon." A soft and slightly raspy voice murmured. I jumped slightly, startled and whipped around. Hagrid must have jumped too, because there was a loud crunching noise and Hagrid got off the spinning chair quickly cursing under his breath.

An old man stood before us with wide pale eyes shining and glittering like moons through the gloomy shadows of the shop.

"Er... Hello" I said awkwardly.

"Ah yes." Said the old man, "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Andromeda Potter" That wasn't a question. It was a statement, as If he knew exactly when I'd be visiting his gloomy shop. He went on. "You have your… mother's eyes" I noticed him trailing off slightly when he examined my eyes. "It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer. I really wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were really creepy. Like he knew something I didn't. And he probably did. There were so much I _didn't_ know.

"Your… father" again, he trailed off when he mentioned my dad. "Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches, pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard of course."

Mr. Ollivander had come so closer now, that he was almost nose to nose. Gods, those were really weird eyes. I could see my reflection on the misty eyes.

"And that's where…"

Mr. Ollivander pressed his long bony white finger on my forehead, directly on my lightning bolt scar. I flinched and shivered from the icy touch.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world would do…"

He shook his as if shaking himself out of a trance, and to my relief, spotted Hagrid. How he failed to miss the giant of a man was a mystery. Hagrid was _huge_.

"Rebeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again… Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped in half when you got expelled?" Mr. Ollivander said, his eyes suddenly sharp, his voice stern.

"Er – yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet, slightly anxious. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly. I nearly face palmed. Seriously? This silver eyed wand maker sounded really serious when he said the bit about the wand.

Just like I suspected, Mr. Olivander narrowed his eyes at the pink umbrella Hagrid was clutching. "But you don't use them?"

"Oh, no, sit," Hagrid replied quickly. Way too quickly. And still clutching the pink umbrella for dear life.

"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look that would have silenced the scariest monster. He turned back to me. "Well, now, Miss. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is you wand arm?"

"Er… well, I'm right-handed, "I had no idea which arm was my 'wand arm'

Mr. Ollivander nodded. "Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured me from shoulder to my head, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round my head. _Another_ thing I didn't understand. Did the measurement of your armpit to knee relevant to getting a wand? As Mr. Ollivander measure, he said," Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Miss Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feather, and the heartstrings of dragons. O two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good result with another wizard's wand."

In the middle of Mr. Ollivander's talk, I suddenly realized that the tape measure which was measuring between my nostrils,(why did he need _that_?) was doing it on its own, and Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes after boxes.

"That will do," he said, carrying a heap of boxes and setting them down on the small counter. The tape measure crumpled into a small bundle on the hardwood floor, automatically.

"Right then, Miss. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave." He took the light colored wood from the box and held it out.

I took the wand and feeling completely stupid, waved it around a bit. But Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of my hand 2 seconds after, shaking his head.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy, Try –"I hardly raised it before it was plucked out of my hand by Mr., Ollivander.

Mr. Ollivnader opened another box and handed me a glossy black wand. "No, no – here, ebony, and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

I tried. And tried. And tried for countless times. I had no idea what Mr Ollivander wa waiting for, but it was getting quite tiring. And frustrating.

"Oak, dragon heartstring. 14 inches. Sturdy."

"Hawthorne, unicorn hair, 9 and 3/4. Bendy "

"Blackthorn, dragon heartstring. 13 inches. Whippy."

The pile of tried – and failed- wands mounted in the spindly chair grew higher and higher, but the more wands failed. As Mr. Ollivander seemed to grow happier and excited as he pulled out boxes after boxes from the study shelves.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match her somewhere – I wander, now- yes why not- unusual combination- holly and phoenix feather," His silver eyes glimmered as he leaned forward to whisper in my ear, covered by my veil of dark hair so that Hagrid couldn't see or hear. "And a lock of Nereid's hair. Perfect for a daughter of…." He trailed off

Daughter of whom? I felt my brow furrow as Mr. Ollivander straightened. "Eleven inches, nice and supple" I tried to catch his eyes again but he ignored me and held out the slim piece of wood, studded with small blue, green and white gems. As soon as I touched sleek wood, warmth spread in my fingers. I raised the pulsing wand above my head, brought it down, swishing through the dusty air. A stream of blues, greens, silvers and gold sparks shot from the tip like fireworks, showering the room with glowing and dancing sparkles of light. I grinned while Hagrid whooped and clapped.

"Oh, Bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very, good. Well, well, well... how curios… how very curious." Mr. Ollivander put the wand back to its velvet lined box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering. "Curious… curious..."

"Uh, excuse me, but what's curious?"

Mr Ollivander turned sharply, fixing me with his pale stare. When he spoke, his voice was grim."I remember every wand I've ever sold, Miss. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just another, it is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when it's brother why, it's brother gave you that scar."

I swallowed. That really didn't sound good.

"Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these thing happen. The wand chooses the wizard-"He saw my sharp eyes and amend. "Witches, in your case. I think we must expect great thing from you, Miss Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things – terrible yes, but great, but great."

I shivered slightly, though the shop wasn't necessarily cold. Mr. Ollivander was creeping me out with his talk and his glimmering wise silver eyes. And the bit about the 'daughter of…' and the 'Nereid' part that he not so subtly refused to explain about. I paid seven galleons for the wand and Mr. Ollivander bowed as Hagrid and I walked out of the shop, a small shiver of wind closing the door behind us softly.

"_Yes. Miss Potter, I'll be expecting great things…."_

-Diagon Alley-

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, Apollo preparing to retire for the day as Hagrid and I made our way back down Diagon Alley, back through the brick wall. Back through the old pub, Leaky Cauldron the shop now empty except for the walnut bar tender Tom who gave us a crooked grin. I didn't speak at all as we walked down the road. My brain was trying to process all the magic stuff. I barely noticed people gawking at the funny shaped packaged and the snowy owl asleep – still! – in the cage on my lap on the train ride back. My brain felt like wet clay and that was defiantly _not _good.

I only realized where we were when we went up another escalator out into Paddington station and Hagrid tapped me on the shoulder. "Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," he said setting the packaged onto the white plastic chairs of the hamburger restaurant.

Even though we were at a normal station in a normal restaurant, everything looked different, so _strange._

Hagrid broke our silence. "You all right, Andy? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid.

I sighed. The day had been amazing. Best birthday of my life. Without the Durlseys and with real presents. But something was bugging me. All the stares in Diagon Ally. The whispers, the hush when they saw my scar on my forehead. The expectant looks, like they expected me to do some kind of powerful magical thing.

"Everyone thinks like I'm special and…" I searched for the right words. " they expect so much. Like I'm their greatest savior or something. All those people in Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander….. And I don't know _anything_ about magic and all that. They expect great things. I mean seriously, I'm _eleven_. I'm famous, but I don't even know _why_ I'm famous. I don't know anything about what happen 11 years ago when this evil dark wizard dude went crazy and killed my parents. And just _ugh_." I tugged my hair in frustration.

Hagrid leaned across the table and gave me a kind smile behind all the wild beard and bushy eyebrows."Don't worry, Andy. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yer self. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts – I did- still do, 'smatter of fact,"

I felt my lips twitch upwards as Hagrid gave me an encouraging smile.

"C'mon, yer train's here." Hagrid helped me on the train that would take me back – unfortunately- to the Dursleys, and handed me an envelope.

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts." He said when he saw my inquiring gaze. "first o' September – Kings' cross – it's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Durslys, send me a letter with yer owl, she'll know where to find me… see yeh soon, Andromeda."

With that, the train pulled out of the station, leaving me on the train, watching Hagrid fade out of my sight. I sat down on the seats, setting the owl's cage down onto the floor.

In Hogwarts, I would be able to be with everyone like me. Magical communities and others my age would be there just like me, starting new.

Maybe this was where I belonged.

* * *

Hi guys!

Really really sorry for not updating for like... 4 or 5 months! Live has been hectic... _sigh._

I'm working on the next chapter. Sorry if this chapter isn't very good.

Also, I edited the other chapters and changed it up a bit.

Please review.

Please do the poll for Ginny's brother.

options:

Giovanni

Godric

Gideon

Gabriel

Other.

Random Quote:

_'We are only as strong as we are UNITED, as weak as we are DIVIDED.' -Albus Dumbleore._

_Love, Magic and Demigods,_

_Catarina Persephone_

_P.S - I'm changing my pen name to 'Catarina Persephone' instead of 'Midnight-silver-moon-godddess' on Sunday/Saturday/Monday._


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